Exacerbyte (Ellie Conway Book 3)

by Cat Connor

  His email alert sounded. “I have IP addresses and real names for registered members of that chat room, who are in there now.”

  “Awesome.”

  An alert sounded. I looked at another private message on my screen.

  Pretty pretty Carla is going to be mine.

  “That’s wrong. Tell me that’s wrong.”

  Doc turned my laptop to face him.

  “It’s wrong. He’s in Syria and Carla is in a new safe-house.” He closed my laptop. “What we’re going to do is go home and get some sleep.”

  “Sleep? He’s going to take Carla.” I could feel panic rising.

  “He’s in Syria,” Doc repeated.

  Lee stood up. “Doc’s right. Let’s go. This is just driving us nuts.”

  Outnumbered. I held them at bay for a moment and called Carla. While I talked I found myself being escorted down the hallway and then up the stairs.

  “Hey, everything all right? The protection squad still with you?”

  “Yes, Mom.” She sounded groggy. “Everyone’s here, everyone’s fine.”

  “Just checking.”

  “It’s ten o’clock. I was almost asleep.”

  “Sorry baby. This will be over soon and then you can come home.”

  “Yay. Goodnight, Mom.”

  “Goodnight Carla.”

  Thirty-Eight

  I Won’t Lose Faith

  We arrived at the office early Wednesday morning and spent most of the morning going over everything we found the day before. It was nearly three in the afternoon when the world turned upside down.

  Heavy footsteps pounded up the corridor outside our office. Suddenly Sam filled the doorway. “We have a problem SSA.”

  I turned from Lee to Sam who filled the doorway. “What’s up?”

  “This …” He hauled Joey into view.

  “Joey?” I stood up. “Let’s take this to an interview room.”

  Sam nodded. He escorted Joey with a firm grip on his upper arm to one of the many interview rooms scattered along the corridor.

  Once inside the sparsely furnished but comfortable room, I enquired what the problem was.

  Sam prodded Joey. “Tell her.”

  Joey fidgeted. “It’s Carla …”

  “And? I’m going to need more than that.”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Gone? Gone how …?”

  She’s under protection. Chrissy McQueen is with her. Carla can’t have gone.

  “I think taken.” He dropped his head so far it almost hit the table he sat at. “I didn’t know who the guy was. He stopped me when I was leaving her house, a couple of weeks ago – the day you took me there.”

  “When did she disappear?”

  “This afternoon.”

  I glanced at Sam. “Amber alert – how long ago do you think she disappeared Joey?”

  Sam waited for Joey’s reply.

  “An hour and thirty minutes.”

  “I’m putting out the alert,” Sam said, and left the room.

  “What guy stopped you?” I thought back to that day. I took Joey to visit Carla and woke up the next day in a hunting cabin, prisoner of a Marine called David Dunn.

  “Some creep, never said his name. Asked me all these questions about you. Stupid shit, like what you talked about in the class that day.”

  I flattened my hands on the table and leaned toward him. “What’d you tell him?”

  He looked panicked. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No. What did you tell him?”

  “I told him about how you talked about poetry and movies and the FBI.”

  Movies. Die Hard 4.0. Bruce Willis.

  “I’m going to show you a picture. Tell me if you’ve seen him before.”

  I flicked through the pictures in my phone and showed him the one a kid in New Zealand had identified as John McClane and that Misha thought was Hudson Hawk.

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He nodded.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back.” I left Joey and ran back to my desk. Lee was still working on closing down the chat room and briefing Cyber on the latest attempts at procuring children via the chat room. He looked up as I slid into my chair and started going through files.

  “Problem?”

  “Joey thinks Carla was snatched. He identified Hawk as the man who asked him a ton of questions about me.” But we had a picture of him getting on a plane. What the hell was going on? My head spun as I realized he’d somehow followed through with his threat. “I think I know where the Bruce Willis thing is coming from now.”

  Lee nodded. “Tell.”

  “My favorite movie?”

  “Live free or Die Hard.” Lee replied without thinking.

  “Yep. That’s what Joey told Hawk too.”

  “But he’s been using Hawk since we first met him.”

  “Yeah … he has. I think he’s from here. I think he’s from New Jersey,” I said, typing quickly as flashes of insight fired in my brain; knowledge I couldn’t explain to myself, let alone anyone else. “I think the Hawk thing was him being a smart ass. He looks foreign. He looks like we thought, of Russian and Arab descent but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t born here.” I was looking for passenger manifests for airlines that flew into Dulles, matching the times and days we suspected Hawk to have re-entered the United States after leaving New Zealand.

  “Where was Hawk from, in the movie?”

  “Hoboken,” I replied. “What if his visits to the US coincided with more personal matters, even family commitments?”

  “He left the country using the name Harry S Stamper and headed for Syria. That may be him in that chat room – he’s accessing it from Syria,” Lee said.

  “Nicola saw him as John McClane and she said something about his accent.” I scrabbled for my notebook and rifled through pages of notes. “He told her he was from Russia but his accent was like mine but more. Whatever the hell that means.”

  “She didn’t react to Rowan’s accent?”

  I flipped pages and looked for my observations as she met the band. “She said he sounded more like McClane than I did.”

  New Jersey.

  I started running Hoboken through all the airlines I could think of, hoping it would trigger something. It triggered something all right; who knew so many people from Hoboken traveled overseas? I began to apply filters to my search. Lee came around my side of the desk.

  “Where’s the jpeg of the picture of Hawk?” he asked, nudging me out of the way and double clicking on the electronic version of the case file. “Facial recognition software might pick something up.”

  “Good thinking.”

  He grinned and tapped his head. “Up here for thinking, down there for dancing.”

  “Can I leave you to it? I want to get back to Joey.”

  “Go. I’m fine here.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Stick To Your Guns

  “Joey, tell me why you think Carla has been taken.”

  “She didn’t answer my latest text messages this afternoon.”

  Oh, come on.

  “Joey – I need more than that.”

  “And that guy who questioned me, I think I saw him when we were hanging out yesterday.”

  “Hanging out. You and Carla? Where?”

  “Yeah, me and her. We’d been to the movies and went for ice-cream after.”

  “Agent McQueen?”

  “She was with us.”

  “Did you tell Agent McQueen you saw him?” He nodded his head. “She said I was imagining things.”

  Joey sounded beaten. He was dealing with weight-of-the-world stuff.

  “We’ll do our best to find her, Joey. You wanna hang out here with us?”

  He nodded. “Is that man who asked me questions the guy who killed her mom?”

  The truth burst forth from my mouth. “Yes. I think it is.”

  His tough shell crumbled. Tears sprang.

  There was no esc
ape. I was alone in the room with a distraught teenager and I was the cause.

  “Hang on, Joey. Just hang on. I’ll be right back; I need to talk to my team.”

  I sent five text messages. I sat down and waited. One by one everyone I’d messaged arrived.

  “Joey, this is Special Agent Lee Davenport, Special Agent Kurt Henderson, Special Agent in Charge Caine Grafton. You know Sam.” I waited. With a flourish of his long black leather coat Misha stepped into the room. “And this here is FSB officer Misha Praskovya.” I clamped a lid on the Mills and Boon/Harlequin thing that happened whenever I saw Misha in his coat. Now was not the time for romance book covers to come to life. Bad enough I was dealing with Kevin Costner flashes every time Doc got too close. I surely didn’t need Fabio as well.

  I gave a briefing on everything we knew from Joey about Carla’s disappearance. It wasn’t much.

  Sam put a BOLO out on Carla to supplement the Amber Alert. Misha spoke to Joey, “The day you were asked questions by Hawk … we were under the impression that Hawk was en route to New Zealand. But he was here.”

  Christ! How did I miss that?

  “He was here,” I whispered.

  Lee looked at me. “I’m on it. We were looking at the wrong days.” He tapped on his laptop.

  “How is he in two places at once?” I grumbled. “I fuc’n hate ghosts.”

  “Who saw him in New Zealand? We had an ID – yes?” Sam asked, more to find the information in his head than expecting an answer. “Nicola Gallagher, our nine-year-old. She went missing when?”

  “Abbey Jenkins was the first kid to disappear. She was missing five days before we found her. Samantha Rowe was next, then Tasha Cravino. Nicola disappeared the day after we arrived,” I replied. “Then Melanie Talbot went missing. They found her body – she died trying to escape. Samantha Rowe and Tasha Cravino have not been found.”

  “The day after we arrived,” Lee repeated. “Look at this.” He spun his laptop toward me. It was the passenger manifest for our flight to New Zealand. I saw it without having to be directed. Harold S Stamper was on our flight. “Seating plan?”

  Lee pulled up the plan. “He was across the aisle. The whole fuc’n trip. Right there.”

  He pulled up his passport information.

  Tears prickled in the back of my eyes.

  “We need to find out who he really is. Misha told us Hawk flew to NZ as Eddie Hawkins, but we now think he flew to New York or DC. So maybe someone else flew as Hawkins – while Hawk came in here as Stamper. Two places at once. Two Unsubs.”

  Two. That changed everything. Or did it. Were there two Unsubs or one man with two identities? Did he find someone who looks enough like his passport photo to fool people?

  Joey grabbed my arm. “You need to find Carla.”

  Yes I fuc’n know!

  A wave of holy hell crashed over me. I could feel the color drain from my face as the tide receded.

  I clung to an image of Carla, as if it were my life preserver. I had to find her.

  My cell phone buzzed. I checked the display.

  Carla.

  “It’s from Carla,” I said and opened the message to find it was a photo of a church. “It’s a picture, anyone know where this is?”

  Caine took my phone and passed it around. Moments later Lee had an answer. “I think its St. Paul’s, Rock Creek.” He entered the name into Google Earth and seconds later was zooming in on the church. “Am I good or what?”

  “You’re awesome. St. Paul’s, Rock Creek – zoom out a bit.” Damn. The old cemetery gave a lot of hiding places and a lot of ground to cover.

  I hoped Carla still had her phone and it was on. I texted a reply. I’m coming to get you.

  Caine paced the room talking on his cell phone. When he stopped, the room fell silent. “There was a shooting at a college campus in Northern Virginia,” Caine said. His voice grated more than usual. “Our SWAT teams were deployed by Chrissy.”

  A lump in my throat threatened to choke me.

  “We do this alone – without SWAT,” I replied. I looked at Sam. “Gear up: meet us in the parking garage. Misha, go with him.”

  “Yes, SSA.” He hustled from the room with Misha.

  I hurried down to my office and took two spare magazines from my drawer. I pushed them into the magazine holder on my belt and tucked in my shirt. My phone rang. It was Sean. “It’s her isn’t it? Chrissy McQueen?”

  “Yes. There is a large discrepancy between goods purchased and income.”

  “That could be explained by an inheritance or lotto win – or selling drugs?”

  “I wouldn’t rule out drugs … from what I can tell … she’s been paid in cash by someone and it started about two years ago.”

  “Thank you.” I hung up. From the closet, I took an FBI jacket. I pulled it on and turned around almost smacking straight into Doc.

  “I saw how the color drained from your face.”

  “So would yours if it were your kid.”

  “Yes, it would.”

  He was starting to grow on me.

  Doc and I hurried back to the meeting room.

  Even he was unprepared for my next statement. “Arrest Special Agent Chrissy McQueen.”

  The entire room fell silent.

  Caine almost dropped his phone. “Ellie?”

  “Arrest her. At this stage she’s an accessory to murder. She’s the only one who could’ve passed information to Hawk and his minions.” And one other thing. “Where the hell is she?”

  “I’ll find her,” Caine replied. “You’re sure?”

  “I pulled in a favor and had us all put under the microscope. It’s her.”

  Caine nodded. “Go, bring Carla home.”

  Joey jumped to his feet. “I’m coming.”

  We’re here again with a teenager demanding to come and it went so well last time. I mentally slapped myself upside the head. Here we go again.

  “Stay here, I’ll get someone to keep you company,” I said.

  “No. You don’t understand. I have to come.”

  “Fine.” I glared at him and delivered a severe caution, “You stay in the goddamn car and you do as you are told, or so help me God I will cuff you to the nearest railing and leave you there.” And he was wrong, I did understand.

  “Okay.” One corner of his mouth twitched upward.

  Forty

  Live Before You Die

  I called DC Police as we drove and asked for help in searching for Carla in and around Rock Creek Park. I wanted to tell them how urgent it was, that the world may end tomorrow and I haven’t had a chance to be her mom yet. But a warning voice in my head restrained me. It was Wednesday and we still didn’t know what was going to happen at 6 p.m. tomorrow. I had Lee’s laptop on my knee. The screen and the facial recognition software running made me feel sick, even though I missed most of the activity. I was hoping against hope that the picture we had of Hawk would turn up something. We’d run it through the system first time we came across him but had been limited by the software. Now we had a newer version. Another difference was confirmation that the man in the picture had definitely been involved in the kidnapping of children in New Zealand.

  Joey fidgeted behind my seat. I turned my head to look at him.

  “We’ll find her,” I said. “We will.”

  “We’re five minutes out,” Lee said.

  An alarm sounded from the laptop saving Lee from a witty and possibly caustic reply.

  “We have a match, actually we have two matches,” I said.

  Lee turned into the trade entrance of St Paul’s, drove to the old stone church and found a car park nearby.

  Doc tapped my shoulder. “So tell us, Conway – name that scumbag.”

  “That would be scumbags, plural. Boris and Viktor Abbasi of Hoboken, New Jersey. Identical twins. Born March 19, 1965 in Hoboken.”

  I called Sam.

  “We’re looking for Boris or Viktor Abbasi. Our Hawk is a twin.”

  “A
twin. So why did one go and one stay?”

  “Won’t know until we find him.”

  I hung up. Lee was talking to DC Police. He’d taken the laptop and emailed the photos and driver’s license information for both twins.

  Joey tried the door handle.

  “Kiddy lock, Joey. You’re not going anywhere,” I told him.

  “Can’t I help?”

  Last time I left a kid in a car, it didn’t end well. Lee nodded ever so slightly.

  “You’re coming. But you stay with us. No running off; no stupid behavior. There are armed cops looking for Carla. Do not get in anyone’s way. Do not become a target.”

  Sam and Misha pulled up beside us.

  Lee pulled the trunk release. I climbed out of the car, opened Joey’s door and instructed him to wait by the trunk with me. Lee’s door shut with a bang. I took a bulletproof vest from the trunk and handed it to Joey. I threw my jacket in the trunk and I pulled my vest over one shoulder then fastened the Velcro closures on the other shoulder and down the side.

  “See?” I asked.

  He nodded and followed suit. I pulled my FBI jacket back on. The three of us stood next to the car wearing Kevlar vests and waterproof jackets, announcing us as FBI front and back. Across the road, soldiers lay in the cold ground in regimented rows at the Soldiers’ Home National Cemetery. I wondered what they would make of this.

  Bob Marley squeezed into my consciousness singing ‘Buffalo Soldiers.’

  A police cruiser pulled up beside our car, then another beside that. A blond cop leaped from the driver’s seat and called out a greeting.

  “Josh, you’re joining us?” I called back with a smile.

  “Sure am. This here is Philip, and those two in the next car are Jessica and Bronwyn.”

  All four officers joined us wearing Kevlar. Never trust the dead. They have a habit of coming back and scaring the living daylights out of a person. I’m not entirely sure they can’t use weapons.

  With a quick scan of the visible graves for materializations of the incorporeal kind, I stopped looking for ghostly activity and reminded myself that the Abbasi brother we were after was far more dangerous than a pissed-off ghost.

  The cemetery covered a lot of ground and we were few.