Vanished

by Karen E. Olson

  I am wondering how long I can stay here without anyone getting suspicious, and if Ryan Whittier is really going to show up, when a hand clasps itself around my mouth as I’m pushed back into the restroom. I feel a hand reach up under my shirt, yank on the wire and watch it fall to the ground. I twist around, jabbing my elbow into his gut. I hear him grunt, but his grip is strong. His free hand roughly pats me down, and he discovers the cellphone in my back pocket. He pulls it out and slips it in his jacket pocket.

  I still haven’t seen his face as I’m dragged through the kitchen and out of a back door to a waiting car. He pushes me inside and the door slams shut behind me.

  FORTY-NINE

  I scramble around in the seat, slipping a little on the leather, and grab at the door handle. I yank at it, but nothing happens. Where is the FBI? They were supposed to keep this kind of thing from happening.

  ‘You can’t get away, and they won’t find you now.’

  Her voice startles me. I didn’t even notice her sitting on the other side of the seat because I was too intent on escape. I’ve only come face-to-face with her once before, but it was at a distance, and we’ve never even said hello to each other. I did see her on the sidewalk outside her apartment in New York, but she didn’t see me.

  Her face is my face. At least, my face from years ago, when I first found myself on Block Island, alone and hiding. I cut my hair, threw away the contact lenses, started to bike, to paint. My life was created out of a crime.

  But the longer I study her, the differences begin to emerge. Her cheekbones are higher; my hair is curlier. Our eyes are shaped the same, but they are different colors: mine are hazel, hers are green. My lips are fuller. I’m a lot leaner; she is softer around the edges. But that’s the way I used to be, too. Before the biking.

  Adriana stares me down, but oddly, it does not make me as uncomfortable as it’s supposed to. Instead, I am filled with a sense of calm. While our father may have been a con man who bilked his clients – and Tony DeMarco – out of millions, I have his genes. I am as much a criminal as he was. And she is proving her own mettle as his daughter as well.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ I ask.

  ‘You can’t figure it out? He says you’re smart.’

  He. She means Zeke. ‘Where is he?’

  Her eyes flicker toward the driver behind the glass, but I doubt he can hear anything back here. The car is maneuvering the narrow streets, passing restaurants with tables set up outside, passers-by leisurely window shopping, the sun reflecting off the windshield. The world is going on outside as though nothing is wrong.

  ‘Why do you think I know where he is?’ she asks, her voice startling me out of my thoughts. I’d spoken to her before on the phone, and the similarities in our voices had struck me then as they do now. I tell myself that I cannot be distracted. The hit that hasn’t been lifted on me hovers between us, but the fact that I am still alive gives me a little hope that I can still save myself – and Zeke – in some way.

  Maybe I’m just naive.

  ‘He’s working for you,’ I say matter-of-factly. ‘You’ve been threatening him with those photographs of me. And now you’ve kidnapped me, so something must have gone wrong.’ I am surprised by how calm I sound, when inside I feel as though I’m about to explode.

  Her jaw tenses, and she studies me a little more intently, as though I might still be wearing a wire.

  ‘He’s an FBI agent. How could he be working for me? And why do you think this is all about you?’ Her tone is belligerent. I chalk her attitude up to her age. I remember the brash arrogance I’d had up until the time I shot Zeke. Hers is no different.

  And then she adds, ‘Oh, that’s right. He helped you steal all that money. I wonder what the FBI would say about that.’

  The threat hangs between us, and I understand more what’s been going on the last months. It’s not only the photographs of me, the threat against my life, but the threat that she would reveal him and ruin his career. Possibly land him in prison.

  But she can’t prove it. We didn’t leave a trail, and anyway, Zeke put the money back after we stole it. Well, except for those couple million dollars that disappeared.

  I wonder again about Agent Tilman and his people. I hope that they were close enough to be able to follow us. I have no idea where she’s taking me, but I have a reasonable suspicion as to why I’ve ended up here. The threats must not be working anymore.

  ‘How is your father?’ I ask.

  The unexpected question startles her, and her face changes slightly before she can stop it. ‘He’s dying,’ she says softly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, and I am surprised now because I think I mean it. I’m not sorry that the man who has ordered a hit on me is dying, but I am sorry that she is going to lose her father. I wasn’t able to see my father before he died; I was sequestered on Block Island and wasn’t able to say goodbye. While I know what kind of man he was, I still wish things had been different. So much so that I sent him a postcard and gave away my location, resulting in having to run for my life.

  ‘Your father offered me a job,’ I say for lack of anything else. ‘He wanted me to hack for him.’ I wonder if I’m saying too much.

  ‘He told me about you,’ she says. ‘He told me I had a sister. He told me about your father. My mother.’ Her voice is low, but there is an edge behind it. She blames me for my father’s indiscretions. There’s nothing I can do about that. I might blame me, too, for lack of anyone else.

  ‘I didn’t know about you,’ I feel compelled to tell her. ‘Not until about a year and a half ago. I had no idea.’

  It doesn’t make a difference. She is comfortable with her hatred toward me, toward my father. It is this hatred that worries me. That makes me think she will have no qualms about actually having me killed. This has little to do with Zeke or the carding forum, or the base that was compromised. It’s merely convenient that threatening my life has been a way to get him to do what she wants. The end game will be the same either way. From the way Adriana is watching me, it is most definitely more about her father’s revenge on me and her need to give him that before he dies. I will die in the city where I was happiest as a child. There is a certain symmetry to that, if I would, in fact, accept that fate.

  I’m not ready to do that.

  ‘Zeke,’ I say, the sound of his name on my tongue giving me a little more strength.

  ‘If you want to see him again, you’ll do what I say.’ Her tone is harsh, and I doubt that if she has her way, I will ever see Zeke again.

  I say nothing, settling back against the soft leather and staring out the window, the city passing us by. She’s not going to tell me anything, so I’m not going to bother with any more questions.

  We are on the outskirts of the city now, I think perhaps in the tenth arrondissement. I spot water, but it’s not the Seine. Maybe a canal, but I can’t remember names. It’s been too long. The charm of Paris has slipped away a little, with concrete buildings sporting brightly colored graffiti. I have no idea where we’re heading until the car slows to a stop in front of what’s clearly a warehouse that’s been renovated into a sleek office building.

  Adriana opens her door and steps out. I reach for my door handle, but the door is yanked open before I touch it.

  ‘Get out.’ The voice is harsh, male.

  I climb out of the car and stand, the sun so bright I shield my eyes with my hand. Adriana is walking around the back of the car and steps up onto the sidewalk. She doesn’t wait for me but moves to the building’s entrance. For a second, I’ve got an opening and I might be able to get away, until the shadow moves in front of me. I lift my hand and look at his face.

  I recognize him. He’s the guy who sat next to me at the bar in Charleston that night before my escape.

  FIFTY

  This man is the one who is going to kill me. His eyes are like a shark’s, black, dead.

  He grabs my elbow and steers me toward Adriana, who’s pushed her way through
the glass doors. Again, I consider trying to flee, but that’s when I feel the gun discreetly stuck in my side. I glance around, but there’s no one on the sidewalk.

  The FBI has not ridden up on white horses or even in a cab to save me. Realistically, I am expendable to Agent Tilman. He used me. It was a good idea, in theory. Use the hacker who has everything to lose; she can’t say no. If it doesn’t work out, then no one is the wiser. The sad thing is that he’s not going to get Adriana or Ryan Whittier. Where is he, anyway?

  Panic encompasses me, and my knees give a little. The gun slips a little as the man forces me to straighten up. I try to push the fear down and clear my head, to focus on my surroundings.

  It’s an office building, but there are no signs on the walls directing people to specific businesses. The floor is a sleek marble; a gigantic floral arrangement perches on an elegant table across from the bank of elevators. It looks very new. Maybe that’s why there’s no one here. No one except us.

  The doors to one of the elevators open and the man shoves me inside, next to Adriana. She pushes a button, and I watch the flash of numbers until we stop on the fifth floor. He hands her the cellphone that he took out of my pocket. The doors slide open and I am pushed out, stumbling, trying to keep my balance.

  My suspicions that this building has been renovated are confirmed, and this space is not finished yet. Pillars mark where offices will be, and instead of walls, plastic sheeting separates the spaces. The floor is covered in paper with a layer of chalky debris, footprints smudged on top of one another. The man uses the gun to guide me through one of the plastic sheets. Behind it, four large computer screens perch on a long table, a couple of swivel chairs in front. As we get closer, I’m embarrassed at how my fingers begin to itch. Even being held at gunpoint, afraid for my life, my addiction overwhelms me.

  Adriana sees it. She’s watching me, and she nods slightly. The man lets go of my arm, the gun no longer against me. For a second, I wonder if I can flee, but this man would have no qualms actually shooting me, and he and Adriana could leave me here to die. Just as I’d left Zeke all those years ago on the houseboat.

  Zeke. I glance around, but there’s no sign of him. No sign of anyone else, except a can of Red Bull next to one of the keyboards in front of the screens. Is this where he was when we saw him on video? It’s possible, and looking at the setup, likely. But if he was here, where is he now?

  Adriana cocks her head toward them. ‘Go ahead. Check it out.’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘I know you want to.’

  I do, but not exactly for the reasons she might think. If I look at the screens, I might be able to get some clue as to whether Zeke has been here. Still, I resist.

  ‘Tell me where he is. I want to see him.’

  Adriana’s eyes flicker over to the man with the gun, then back at me. ‘He wants to see you, too.’ There is a venom in her tone that tells me more is going on here than I originally thought. Zeke met Adriana when he was undercover. He said that the nature of his assignment was to get her to trust him, and he insists that there was never anything more than a platonic relationship. From the way she’s looking at me, though, it’s clear that she wanted it to be more. There was only one thing in the way: me.

  I’ve been the target of a woman scorned before, and I managed to survive.

  ‘Does your father know what you’re up to?’ I ask.

  ‘Did your father?’

  It’s a loaded question. My father knew what I could do, and he set me up. Does she know what I was willing to do to get him to notice me? If she does, then she’s answered my question. Tony DeMarco may not have asked her directly to do this, but she’s willing to do it for his approval. My sister and I are not so different, which is why I say, ‘You don’t have to do this.’

  She doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

  ‘I spent a long time in hiding,’ I tell her. ‘Believe me, it’s not an easy life. Always looking over my shoulder. Taking on different names. Are you willing to do that? Is this all worth that? Is he worth that?’ I pause. ‘He’s dying, Adriana. Go be with your father. Give this up. No one will ever know. You can go back to your businesses. Your legitimate businesses. He’ll still be proud of you.’

  My words affect her in a way she’s not expecting. She wavers, and for a moment I think I’ve gotten through, that she is going to do as I say. But it’s too late. Even I can see that. The FBI is already in the picture, maybe in the periphery, but they’re still there. Zeke’s work will not go unnoticed, despite what might happen to him. To me.

  I want to ask her what she wants of me, why she brought me here. Why not just kill me? There’s something more at play, but I can’t figure it out.

  And then I spot the camera. It’s up in the corner, angled down, right on me. Anyone watching will see the gun pointed at me.

  Is Zeke on the other side? Is that what this is all about? Photographs showing that they’re within an arm’s reach of me are no longer doing the job. Now they have to bring me physically at gunpoint to prove that they mean business.

  And as though they know what I’m thinking, the screens light up, code splashed across them.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask, but I already know. Someone is remotely accessing these computers. It has to be Zeke. And then I have another thought. I turn to Adriana. ‘You don’t know where he is, do you?’

  Her jaw tenses, but she says nothing, nods at the man behind me, who jabs the gun into my side. I flinch and catch my breath. But I’m distracted by what’s happening on one of the screens. It’s like a player piano; no one is at the keys but music comes out anyway.

  I push my glasses up further on my nose and focus on the code splashed across the screen. I tune out everything – Adriana, the gun – as I study it, a language that I am even more fluent in than French.

  I half expect this to be the source code of the app, but it’s not. It’s the source code of the message program in my laptop. The messages Zeke wrote to me are there, but they’re mixed up in the code, so anyone like Adriana who doesn’t know the language wouldn’t be able to see it – not right away, anyway. This computer is still linked to mine – and Spencer is on the other side.

  ‘What is he doing?’ Adriana asks.

  Even though she doesn’t know how to code and can’t read it, she suspects, like I do, that Zeke’s on the other side of the screens. The problem is, does Zeke know about Spencer? Will he try to reach out to him? I want to warn him somehow, send him a message that he shouldn’t engage, just in case. But unless I can get to the keyboard, my hands are tied.

  ‘Tell me what’s happening.’ Adriana’s tone is harder, more insistent. She wants me to interpret, make sure that he’s doing what she wants. Her concern probably has to do with the card information. The information was never transferred. She has to make sure that she gets it. After that, she’ll kill me.

  I take a step toward the computers, and the man grabs my arm. Adriana gives a short shake of her head, and he lets me go. She nods at me, and I move to the chair and take a seat. I run my fingers along the keys, feeling their strength. This is what I do; this is how I’ve been able to save myself. I can’t lose it now. I have to survive.

  Because they’ve got this computer setup, it’s possible Adriana doesn’t know that everything can be controlled by a cellphone. A cellphone that she just happens to be holding.

  I try to concentrate on the code but Adriana is pacing a few feet away; the man with the gun stands stiffly on the other side of me. They’ve got me boxed in. Even if I were considering taking off, one of them would be able to tackle me and take me down. Not to mention that gun might be put to use.

  I switch from this screen to the one next to it. There’s more code, and it takes me a few moments to decipher it. This is the code for the app. It looks like what I saw on my phone before Agent Tilman showed up at the hotel. And then I see it again.

  The back door.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Zeke put th
is here for a reason, but I haven’t been able to figure it out. It was also in the hotel reservation system. I read the code a little more closely.

  There are hundreds, no, thousands of accounts stored here. This is the base, and it’s all in limbo.

  And then I have an idea. I once circumvented millions of dollars from several bank accounts to other accounts in other banks all over the world. All I have to do now is figure out how to first send this information to the server so Adriana will think she’s finally got it – and then make it disappear.

  I study the code and try to think the way Zeke – no, Tracker – would when he created the back door. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, shutting out everything. I let it all slip away as the code begins to run inside my head.

  What do you see?

  I ask myself the same question Tracker always used to ask me when he wasn’t Zeke, when he wasn’t anyone except my best friend who always pushed me to do my best work. And when I open my eyes, I know what I have to do.

  The back door leads into the server, where the card information will be deposited and stored. But where will I send it from there? The answer comes to me so suddenly that I’m annoyed I didn’t think of it sooner. What if I sent the information back where it came from? Into the card accounts.

  It will be tricky to do that, since the information has come from cards issued by different banks. People use ATM machines indiscriminately. They don’t choose an ATM at their own bank. This is what makes this hack more genius than merely going after one large institution.

  And as I consider the genius of it, the back door in the app makes even more sense. I can recode it and reverse it. My fingers move across the keys as I create source code from what’s already there. I shift a little in my seat and wish I still had the phone. Because of the two-step verification system that Zeke’s set up, it would be easier to use the app for the final transfer, but I can’t exactly ask Adriana to give it back to me or I’ll tip my hand.