by P. D. Martin
“Yup.”
Gerard starts the computer for me. He opens up aWeb browser window and logs into the site as BlackWidow. Two others are online, NeverCaught and AmericanPsycho. I wonder if that means they’re on the East Coast, where it’s a little bit later.
I voice this observation. “It’s 6:30 a.m. here, which makes it 9:30 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.”
Gerard sees where I’m going with it. “But they may log on before work. That’d cover most time zones.”
He’s right. “Can you get locations of where they’re logging on from?”
“Yes, that’s one of the things I’m working on. But whoever set this up knows what they’re doing. Each computer’s connection is being bounced around so many times, it’s going to take a while to trace it back to the source.”
I nod and bring my attention back to the site, back to BlackWidow.
BlackWidow: Morning. Anything interesting happening inside?
NeverCaught: Nope. ** it. Let’s just cut to the chase. Next elimination please!
BlackWidow: I’m enjoying Jonathan too much to give up this house. Let’s stick to the schedule.
AmericanPsycho: You two are still at it?
BlackWidow: You better believe it.
NeverCaught: I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. What do you see in him?
AmericanPsycho: I’d have to agree with Never.
BlackWidow: I like his broody look. It’s sexy.
NeverCaught: I would have thought it would be a panicked look by now.
BlackWidow: That’s even sexier.
AmericanPsycho: I think it’s time to turn on the lights.
* * *
We watch the main video feed as the lights of the bunker come on, and the camera changes from night vision to normal vision.
“Interesting.”
“What?” Darren and I ask in unison.
“I assumed the lights would be on a timer. But he turned them on at the flick of a switch, literally. Which means he’s either in that control center near the bunker, or he’s got electronic control over them.”
“Is that possible? To control them remotely?”
“Sure. Heard of Roke Manor Research’s Domestic Internet Remote Controller?”
I laugh. “Nope.”
Gerard grins. “Sorry. All the doors, locks, lights and cameras could be controlled by SMS or via a customized Web page that displays the floor plan of the bunker, with controls to switch lights and other electrical devices on and off.”
“SMS?”
“Yep. He could simply send an SMS with a ‘lights on’command.”
“Jesus,” Darren says.
“I better concentrate on this again…” I look back at the screen and start typing to cover up any lag.
NeverCaught: You just want to see Susie.
AmericanPsycho: She is nice to look at.
BlackWidow: I’ll tell Jonathan the president’s got his eye on his little friend.
AmericanPsycho: Do. Jonathan needs to be put in his place.
DialM has entered the room.
DialM: Hi, all.
BlackWidow: Morning.
NeverCaught: Hi, M. How’s your little pet doing?
DialM: The crying’s finally stopped. She’s accepted her new role in life.
AmericanPsycho: You like to break em, huh?
DialM: Yes. She lasted longer than I thought she would. She seemed such a timid thing.
BlackWidow: Looks can be deceiving.
My fingers punch the last line into the keyboard as I try to control my anger.
“She’s still alive.” Darren places his hand on my tense shoulder.
“For the moment.” I shake my head. “I’ve got to get more info.”
“Be careful. We don’t want them suspicious.”
“If AmericanPsycho is Heath, he’ll be suspicious in a couple of hours anyway,” I say.
“With a system like this there’s a lot they can do in two hours, Anderson.” Gerard seems totally awake now. “They’ve installed fail-safes everywhere, the whole bunker could have one, too.”
“Like what?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Anything could be controlled by the Roke Manor software, even explosives.”
“Shit!” I shake my head. He’s right. It fits with the way the whole operation has been run so far. “Maximum carnage, destroy all evidence.”
Gerard nods.
My shoulders slump.
“The perfect cover-up,” Darren says.
I look back at the chat room and catch up on the last comment.
DialM: Yes, they can be. Not that I mind a challenge. I’d be upset if she accepted her fate within an hour.
BlackWidow: Jonathan’s accepted his part in this game.
AmericanPsycho: Really? I’m surprised, given his personality profile. Be careful with him.
BlackWidow: Don’t worry. I can’t play with him for much longer anyway. I’ve got to get back to work. Life as a ****** is flexible, but it’s still work.
* * *
I look up at the screen and notice the asterisks. “Shit, what’s that?”
“I noticed it before, with NeverCaught,” Gerard says.
“I thought he’d typed it instead of the f-bomb,” Darren says.
“So did I.” Gerard leans in. “What did you type?”
“Sales rep.”
“Someone’s set up a filter program. Another safeguard.”
“If that’s the case, Brooke wasn’t lying about not knowing anything about her fellow club members.” Darren rubs his eyes, still trying to wake up. “None of them do.”
Gerard nods. “The person behind this could have set up filters for a variety of words. Obviously it’s set up for cussing and occupations.”
I think about the operation. “Makes sense. Part of his control over the game. He knows who everyone is and what they do, but no one else does.”
“Shall we wake up Brooke and ask her about the censoring?” Darren asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know if she can add anything.” I pause. “Although she has had more time to think about the president’s betrayal. Maybe her lips will be looser.”
Darren nods. “We can question her before we leave.”
“You’re on.” I turn my attention back to the computer and read Psycho’s comment.
AmericanPsycho: Slack of you, BW. How many times do I have to tell you to watch what you say?
BlackWidow: I know, sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.
NeverCaught: You go, girl.
BlackWidow: I have to go. Some phone calls to make. If you don’t hear from me for a while you know what I’m doing! See you.
BlackWidow has left the room.
* * *
“I give up. If the system’s set up to protect their identity, I’ll never get anything out of them online.”
“Don’t worry. We’ve got Heath’s ass.” Darren grins, but I’m not sure if it’s genuine faith that the case is about to break, or optimism. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.
I pace in one of the interview rooms, my mind swirling with evidence and chat-room lines, while Darren gets Brooke from the holding cell downstairs. Only a few minutes pass before he enters with Brooke, whose hands are cuffed behind her back. Her hair hangs limply around her face and she looks like she’s had about as much sleep as we have.
“Hi, Brooke.”
“You,” she says, stopping in her tracks.
“Didn’t realize I made such an impression.”
She glares at me and walks toward the seat.
I lean against the table. “I guess I should introduce myself. I’m a profiler with the FBI.”
She doesn’t respond.
“The president of your club’s done some job on you guys.”
Her eyes narrow. “He’ll pay.”
“I’m afraid you’re not in any position to make him pay.” I sit down opposite her and cross my legs. “But we are.”
Darren moves t
o the wall and leans against it. “Sure are.”
“Really,” she says sarcastically.
I nod slowly. “In fact, we’re about to arrest one of your fellow members.”
“Really?” The sarcastic tone has disappeared. “Who?”
“We know his name, but we’re not sure if he’s NeverCaught or AmericanPsycho.”
“You obviously got onto the site okay.”
“Yes. Thanks.”
She leans back in her chair. “I’ve given you enough help.”
“So you don’t want to help us find the man who set you up?”
She pauses. “Like I said, I’ve given you enough. Work the rest out yourselves, if you can.” She shakes her head.
“He planted that rose on Malcolm. He planted stuff on Brigitte, too. Doesn’t that piss you off?”
“Hell, yes. Why’d you think I gave you the damn laptop password?” She sighs. “Truth is, lady, I don’t have anything else for you.”
Darren steps forward. “I bet she’ll be more cooperative at trial time.”
She smiles. “Maybe I will—” she looks Darren up and down, the sexual predator taking over again “—Detective.”
But I think she’s bluffing. She doesn’t know anything more of value.
The plane touches down in San Francisco at 11:00 a.m., West Coast time. We catch a taxi from the airport directly to the San Francisco FBI field office.
I hold my Bureau ID out at the security desk. “Special Agent Anderson here to see Special Agent Dusk.”
After the security guard gets confirmation that Dusk’s expecting us, he lets us in. “Dusk is on the third floor,” he says.
We take the elevator up in silence. I’m preparing for the eventual confrontation with Heath Jordan, and I guess Darren is doing the same. When the doors open, a short man in his early forties is waiting for us.
“Anderson?”
“Yes.” I shake his hand. “And this is Detective Darren Carter from Tucson Homicide.”
Darren and Dusk also shake hands.
“Has it come through?” I ask.
Dusk fishes the all-important search warrant out of his inside pocket and jostles it in his hand like a victory dance. He passes it to me and I give it a quick once-over. It’s exactly what I’d requested. Jonathan’s sworn statement and positive ID of Heath Jordan has given us an unlimited search warrant for both Jordan’s office and his home, including all computer equipment.
“Is the rest of the team ready?” I ask Dusk.
“Uh huh. Me and my partner will go with you guys to the office, plus we’ve got two forensic investigators and our computer guy. I’ve organized four agents and four forensics people, including one computer expert just like you requested for the suspect’s home address.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Darren and I ride with Dusk and his partner, with forensics behind us. At Hillview Avenue we pull up right in front of SysTech, the company where Heath Jordan works. SysTech is in Palo Alto—more commonly known as Silicon Valley—about forty-five miles south of downtown San Francisco.
We’re carrying out the search warrants simultaneously, so we sit in the cars, waiting until the other team is in place too. Presumably Heath is in the office, given it’s Friday, but if he’s at home I don’t want some colleague calling him and tipping him off. This way we have the element of surprise no matter where he is.
After just under fifteen minutes, Dusk’s phone rings.
“Dusk…okay. One minute from now.” He hangs up. “They’re in position.”
I look at my watch and count down. With each second my heart beats faster, pumping adrenaline through my body. Gotta love that feeling: once again the hunter has become the prey. A buzz of righteousness joins my adrenaline surge.
We get out of the car and proceed up the stairs to the entrance.
I flash my ID at the security guard. “FBI. We’ve got a search warrant for Heath Jordan’s office and your computer network.” I hold the warrant up on the glass.
The security guard is flustered. I bet this has never happened to him before. “Um…um, let me just call the security manager.”
“Do what you like, but this piece of paper gives us access now.” I hop over the nearest barrier and the others do the same. “What floor’s he on?” I demand.
“Ummm…ahh…top floor, forty-five.”
I push the up button while Dusk arranges for an officer to stay with the security guard to make sure he doesn’t phone Heath. The elevator travels express for the first forty floors, and when the doors open at the fortieth floor I flash my ID and tell the person to wait for the next lift.
By the time we exit onto the forty-fifth floor, only about two minutes has elapsed. Hopefully, it will still be a surprise visit. I grab the nearest person and ask them where Jordan’s office is. They point me to the far corner office and we make our way to the other side of the building. As we move through the open-plan work area, people stare at us, some standing up to watch our progress. By the time we reach Heath’s office, at least half the floor is up and trying to work out what’s going on.
“Can I help you?” Jordan’s secretary asks as we pass her. We ignore her and I fling the door open.
The secretary’s behind us. “You can’t just barge in like this.”
I flash my ID at her without turning around.
Heath sits behind the desk, taking up more space in the room than his fancy chair. He stands up and his imposing frame makes me think about Jonathan’s description, “built like a brick house.” He looks more like a heavy-weight boxer or football player than a computer programmer.
“Mr. Jordan, I’m Special Agent Anderson with the FBI. We’ve got a warrant to search this office.” I hold up my ID and hand him the search warrant. “Please step away from your desk. Now.”
He backs away, reading the warrant. “I don’t understand. What’s this all about?”
I have to smile at his question. Why do they always pretend they’re innocent? It’s like bad guys belong to this club, the “deny everything” club. It’s astounding sometimes.
“What’s wrong…Chester?” I drag out the alias he’s been using in the game. To my surprise he doesn’t even flinch. Could he have covered his tracks so well that he’s not frightened of being caught? Even if he has, it doesn’t matter, because we’ve got Jonathan.
I hear the secretary on the phone, calling someone.
I get up close and personal with Heath, like I did with Brooke. I can’t imagine a man Heath’s size being intimidated by a five-footeight woman, but you never know. “Chester,” I repeat. “What made you choose that name?”
His dark brown, almost black eyes move from focusing over my shoulder to making eye contact. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I laugh and put my hands on my hips. “Aren’t you curious?”
“Sure I am. I’d like to know what the hell’s going on.” He raises his voice and looks once again over my shoulder at the agents and forensic investigators already sifting through his office.
“I didn’t mean curious about what we’re doing here.” I pause for effect. “I meant curious about how we found you.”
Still his face is impassive. It’s a good mask, but it’s also too impassive for a man wrongly accused. He knows exactly what I’m talking about.
I look around his office. “Nice setup you’ve got here.” I gaze out the large window at San Francisco in the distance. Man, he must be high up in this company for a corner office with that view. “Nice view.”
“I like it.”
I smile. “Take a good look. You won’t be seeing a view like that for some time. Forever I’d say.”
“Am I under arrest?” Still no hint of concern in his voice.
He has the detached manner of a sociopath or, more likely, a psychopath. “So, are you AmericanPsycho or NeverCaught?” I know he’s not DialM.
“Agent Anderson, is it?” Heath smiles at me, like we’re having a normal, friendly
conversation.
“Yes.”
“I really wish I knew what you were talking about. Then perhaps I could help you.”
I laugh again. “Carter, he’s all yours.” For the moment, the attempted murder of Jonathan is all we’ve got Heath on.
Darren takes out his handcuffs. “Heath Jordan, you’re under arrest for being an accessory to the attempted murder of Jonathan Cantor.” Darren continues reading him his rights.
When he’s finished, I say, “Did you hear that, Heath?” I pause for effect. “Attempted murder.” I spit “attempted”, so he knows Jonathan is still alive. “And soon we’ll have you for a lot more than that.”
“What’s going on here?”
I swing around. A man in his early to midthirties has entered the room. He’s six foot and I put him at around the two hundred pound mark, but all of that two hundred pounds looks like muscle, even through his designer suit. He has dark hair, cut fairly short but slightly longer and tousled on top, and captivating green eyes. I can tell from his tone of voice and demeanor that he’s a man who’s used to being listened to. Obviously that’s who the secretary was on the phone to.
“And you are?” I move closer to him. Behind him about ten staff members have come in for a closer look, although no one’s actually in the office.
He smiles, revealing perfectly straight and extra white teeth. “Justin Reid.” The smile goes and his tone becomes commanding once more. “The owner and CEO of this company. Who are you, and what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I take out my ID again. “Special Agent Anderson of the FBI.” I motion toward Heath. “This man is under arrest for accessory to an attempted murder.”
“What?” He’s obviously shocked and, for a few seconds, speech-less. “No, there must be some mistake.” The certainty returns.
“I’m afraid not. We have an eyewitness. And we have a warrant to search this office and take whatever we want as evidence, including all of his computing devices.”
Reid holds his hand out. “May I see the warrant, please?” He’s flustered, but still commanding in his request.
I grab the warrant from the desk where Heath had dropped it when Darren was cuffing him. “You a lawyer, Mr. Reid?”