The masked receptionist looked in her calendar. “Don’t see your name here, son. Can I tell him what the purpose of your visit is?”
“Sure. I’d like to talk to him about security for Georgia’s election software,” Jake answered.
“Have a seat. I’ll see if he’s interested, and available.” She disappeared through a door behind her desk.
Ten minutes later, the receptionist returned, followed by a non-descript man with an inquisitive look on his face. “That’s him, Mr. Dobbs,” the receptionist said, pointing a finger at Jake. She withdrew to her desk as Dobbs walked over to Jake. He was not wearing a mask.
“Was told you might be comin’ here, boy. Under different circumstances, I’d frankly be interested in sittin’ with you a spell, hearing your story, especially whatever it was you did to piss off POTUS and EBCOM so mightily. But today, I ain’t in the market of buyin’ what you’re a sellin’. You didn’t hear it from me, boy, but you oughta beat it outta here, lickety split. In about two minutes, you won’t be able to.” He turned and walked away before Jake could answer.
JAKE DID EXACTLY AS he was told, only faster. He hit the streets, saw nothing untoward, and walked as fast as he could to where Amir was parked. “Trouble, Amir, take off fast and don’t stop ’til you’re back home.” Jake was gone before Amir could object.
He saw a traffic officer a block away. He approached the officer and asked whether there were any nearby car rentals, “just to do a little sightseeing, and then leave it at the airport.”
The officer turned and pointed down the street. “Two blocks ahead, first signal, turn right, and it’s one block down on the left side of the street.”
“Much obliged, officer. Have a nice day.” Jake walked off, trying to look relaxed. He was anything but.
He found the car rental, walked in, and told the agent he was visiting from out of town. “Flew in on a last-minute invitation to play Augusta. A lifelong dream. Came on such little notice, couldn’t even pack my clubs. Was going to stay in Augusta, but wanted to rent a car to make the drive. I’ll keep it for a couple of days and turn it back in at the airport.”
“Holy fuckin shit, man,” the agent said. “Lived here all my life and never been able to get on Augusta.” He took pictures of Jake’s credit card, driver’s license, and insurance card. Jake was dying on the inside, but all smiles and happy talking about Augusta on the outside. Ten minutes later, he was in a fully gassed economy car, with a map of the area marked to show the way to Augusta, and the way to Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. It also showed the way north out of town, but that wasn’t marked.
JAKE DROVE OUT OF the car rental and found the route out of town headed north. He pulled over into a mall parking lot, and sent two emails to Leah.
The first read:
DEAR SIS!
HOPE YOU’RE WELL. WE NEED TO CATCH UP.
HUGS,
JAKE
The second read:
BUKAR ABCIM U-
JUST AS JAKE WAS about to finish the third word, hit send, and drive off, four unmarked black SUVs screamed into the mall lot and surrounded Jake’s car. No sirens. No lights. Each SUV had two occupants—eight of them, and only one of Jake. Not very good odds.
Four huge white males in unmarked military fatigues rushed Jake’s car with guns unholstered and pointed at Jake. He was barely able to add a dash to the last letter he had typed and hit send. They didn’t ask him who he was, but they seemed to know.
“Turn off the engine, boy. Slowly hand me the car keys, and that phone of yours.”
“Who are you gentlemen? May I see some identification? Have I done something wrong?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, boy. You won’t like what’ll happen if I have to.”
Jake did as he was told.
“Outta the car and down on your knees. Hands behind your back. Now.”
“Lucky I’m not black, huh.” Can’t believe I said that. Just kinda slipped out.
“Might as well be, far as we’re concerned—smart-ass.” The one who made that remark slapped Jake along the side of his head. Hard.
Jake was cuffed and thrown in the back seat of one of the SUVs. Pain shot through his shoulders as his hands were forced together behind his back. His cuffs were hooked to the side door. Two of the men got in the front seat of the SUV and one got in the back, alongside Jake. Two other men got into Jake’s car and pulled in behind the lead SUV occupied by Jake.
“Where are you taking me?” Jake asked.
No one answered him. It was like he didn’t exist.
He broke out in a cold sweat. He could feel his heart pounding. He could hardly catch his breath. He felt lightheaded, like he might pass out. Oh shit! Not good. Definitely not good. But nothing to be gained by saying anything more for now. The procession headed off. In the rearview mirror of the SUV, Jake could see his rental car, and the other three SUVs bringing up the rear. Wonder if they’ll turn in my rental car for me. They drove with no regard for any local speed limits—but still no sirens, and still no flashing lights.
What little perception Jake had turned a hundredfold worse when the man sitting next to him, without warning, suddenly slipped an opaque hood over his head. At least the KKK hoods had slits to see and breathe.
IT SEEMED A LOT longer, but it was only ninety minutes since Leah had first read Jake’s two emails—especially the first one that had put Leah on high alert, set her wheels in motion. More like spinning in mud, going nowhere! Leah’s emotions vacillated back and forth between fear for her “kid” brother and irritation with her husband, who she had repeatedly, but unsuccessfully, been trying to reach every few minutes since Jake’s two emails had arrived.
When Leah had married Frank, a half-dozen years earlier, she had adopted his two young children, Charlie and Madison, who had survived the hit-and-run death of their mom, Frank’s first wife. It was a package deal. Leah became Mom. She couldn’t have been more pleased. Probably Jake either, no doubt, because he assumed Leah’s instant family responsibilities would have left her precious little time to mother him quite so much. Of course, he should have known better.
All Frank had to do was love, cherish, and obey—and always be telephonically available in the event of any family emergencies. First, Jake—missing and apparently in some kind of serious trouble. And now, Frank—who was also nowhere to be found.
TURGENEV READ THE UNSCRAMBLED message. Finally. About fucking time!
He arranged for the following text to be sent:
IT’S OVER. RETURN HOME SOONEST.
FIRE SHOT OUT OF Leah’s eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” Leah said to Frank as he barely set foot through the front door of their well-sized home, and handed him the spray bottle of disinfectant sitting on the entryway table.
“Well, hello to you too,” Frank said, as he discarded his mask and gloves. “My day was okay; thanks for asking. Yours, not so much, I’m guessing. Anything in particular?”
“I’m pissed,” she answered.
“Could’ve fooled me. Pissed at who? Something I said? Did I say something wrong?”
“At whom. And not something you said, but something you didn’t say. More importantly, something you didn’t do. You didn’t tell me where you’ve been. What if something had happened to Charlie or Madison? What if I needed you? What if we needed you?”
“It’s not even dinnertime,” he said. He quickly stole a peek at his watch for moral support. “Where do you think I’ve been? Like, maybe at work? Since you said ‘what if’, do I trust nothing’s in fact up with Charlie or Madison? Aren’t they still off visiting their grandparents for a few days, helping them stock up on groceries and taking care of some other household chores made a bit more complicated by the pandemic sheltering rules for older folks?”
“No, nothing’s up with the kids, or your parents, they’re all fine. But I’m always supposed to be able to reach you. I tried your cell—you didn’t pick up. I called your office—a
ll they knew was that you were ‘out in the field.’ And you didn’t call back! What if Charlie or Madison did need you?”
Frank looked sheepish. “Sorry, I know the drill. Turned out, I was in a bad patch, didn’t have reception. And was out longer than I expected.”
Leah took a couple of breaths. Point made. Time to move on. Her thoughts returned to Jake. She had managed to hold her emotions together—barely—until Frank arrived. One problem down, one more to go. The room started spinning. She clutched Frank’s forearm to catch her balance, and took a deep breath.
“What is it?” Frank asked.
She took his hand, grabbed her purse and keys from the table where they had been standing in the front hallway, and ushered him out of the house.
ANYA READ THE TEXT. It’s over. Return home soonest. What does that mean—it’s over?
LEAH QUICKLY LED FRANK down to the street in front of their home and continued pulling him along the sidewalk for about a hundred yards or so before she halted. “It’s Jake. He’s in trouble,” she finally said.
Frank looked into Leah’s eyes. “What kind of trouble?” he asked, firmly but softly.
“I don’t know. I got an email from Jake, actually two,” she said. “I tried to call him. His number rolled over to voicemail. He hasn’t called back. First Jake, and then you. No one was taking my damn calls! I sent Jake an email too. He hasn’t responded to that either.”
“Why are we standing here in the middle of the street?” Frank asked.
“I think our house might be bugged,” Leah answered.
“What?” Frank stared at her. “Do you have Jake’s emails? Can I see them?”
Thinking that her smartphone might also be bugged, Leah had printed out Jake’s two emails, and intentionally left her phone behind in the house. She reached into her bag and pulled out the printed copies of the emails and handed them to Frank.
Frank read Jake’s emails, and then stared at Leah. “The second email’s a bit cryptic and strange, perhaps written by someone who’s had one too many drinks, but the first email seems perfectly bland. What trouble do you think Jake’s in? He doesn’t say anything about trouble. Do you think he might be ill? Can you explain to me what’s bothering you?”
All of a sudden, Leah’s emotional dam burst. She let out a whimper and started to fall. Frank caught her, pulled her into him, and held her close for several moments, until her shaking subsided. “Whoa. Easy. Just catch your breath,” he said to her.
She tried to speak, but couldn’t.
“Leah, I’m right here. Take your time. There’s no need to rush.”
She pushed him away, put her arms around her shoulders, and took several slow exaggerated breaths. She closed her eyes. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” She took more deep breaths.
“Breathe slower, less deeply,” Frank said. “You’re hyperventilating. If you’re not careful, you’ll pass out.” He put his hands gently back on her shoulders.
She slowed down. “What do you mean there’s no need to rush? I’m a mother, a sister, not a damn homicide investigator like you. First, I was all alone for almost two hours with Jake’s emails. No idea where he is or what to do. Then, I started worrying someone may be watching us. I can’t take it anymore.” Her panic welled up all over again.
“Leah, stop. I understand. I got you. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’re not alone. We’re in this together. We’re a team, you and I. We’ll figure this out. Together. We’ll get through this.”
“Frank, Jake’s young, he feels invincible, independent. But now he’s scared. And I don’t know where he is. I can’t reach him. I can’t help him. I need to help him. Tell me, Mr. Detective, what am I going to do? I’m his big sister. I’m his mother. Tell me, please, what the hell am I going to do!”
“What are we going to do.” He held her close once more. “We need to sort this out, but not here in the middle of the street.” Still holding the emails, Frank guided Leah back to his car, and drove them to a nearby restaurant they frequented.
TURGENEV LOOKED INCREDULOUSLY AT Lebedev’s handler. “What do you mean there’s no answer?” he asked.
“I mean, she hasn’t responded to my instructions,” the handler answered.
“Find her! And be fast about it, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” The handler scurried out of Turgenev’s office.
LEAH HURRIED TO A corner booth at the rear of the restaurant. The waitress brought them two glasses of water. They each ordered coffee, nothing more. They waited a couple of minutes until the waitress brought them their drinks.
Frank spread the two emails out in front of them on the table, facing him. He again said to Leah that he didn’t get it.
“It’s all over the email!” Leah all but shouted.
“Babe, I hear ya, but you gotta help me out a little here. What’s all over the email?”
“For starters, the email begins DEAR SIS! That’s a dead giveaway, especially the exclamation mark.”
“Because?”
“Because that’s Jake’s code for DIRE SOS! He’s in trouble—dire trouble.” Leah was trying to calm down, but not succeeding.
“What code? Tell me about the code.”
“You know how Jake’s a techie? When he was a kid, he made up a code for fun, kind of like Pig Latin, but a little more tricky. In his code, which we named ‘JK’s Code’, DEAR SIS! becomes DIRE SOS!”
“Whoa. Slow down. Walk me through the ground rules of how JK’s Code works. One step at time, would ya please.”
“Okay. First, you need to concentrate on the vowels, A E I O U. When you have two words, in this case, DEAR SIS!, you have to take one word at a time, starting with the first word, DEAR. Got that?”
“Kind of like charades. Two words. First word. First clue. Keep going.”
“You take the first vowel in the first word, and you increase it by one—meaning, you change the E in DEAR to an I. You still with me?”
“Hold up,” Frank said. He removed his ever present old-fashioned pocket-sized detective’s notepad and pen from his jacket and turned to a fresh page.
It amused Leah to no end that Frank refused to transfer his thought processes from his caveman era notepad to his 21st century smartphone.
On the first line, Frank wrote DEAR. On the second line, he next wrote DEAR –> DIAR. “So, DEAR is now Diar. I’m looking right at it. Diar. That’s gobbledygook. There obviously has to be more than that. Right? What’s next?”
“Stay with me. I told you JK’s Code is a little tricky. When the resulting first word, Diar, also has two vowels in a row, one after another, I and A, which are in turn followed by a consonant, R, you now take the second vowel in the first word, and increase it by one—meaning, you change the A in what is Diar to an E, and you then move that resulting E to the other side of the consonant R. Therefore, DIAR becomes Dier and Dier becomes DIRE.”
Leah looked for some sign that Frank was still following her.
Frank shook the apparent cobwebs out of his head. “I think I got it, but give me a sec,” he said. On the third line of his notepad page, he wrote DIAR –> Dier. On the fourth line, he wrote Dier –> DIRE. “So, under JK’s Code, you’re telling me, bottom line, DEAR becomes DIRE. Right?”
“Exactly!” Leah said.
“What if the first word has another vowel in it, but it is not in succession with the first vowel?”
“Just repeat for the second vowel the rule I just gave you for the first vowel.”
“Got it. Okay. Let’s move on. SIS!, what do we do about the second word?” Frank asked.
“That’s easy,” Leah answered. “You go back to Jake’s first rule and increase the vowel I in the second word by one vowel, in this case from I to O. So, SIS! becomes Sos! Taking a little literary license, Sos!, as a matter of emphasis, becomes SOS! Even with my slight embellishment, that should be pretty straightforward.”
On the next two lines of Frank’s notepad, he wr
ote Sis! –> Sos! and Sos! –> SOS! Frank bobbed his head, barely, but affirmatively.
On a roll, Leah charged on. “As a result, DEAR SIS! becomes DIRE SOS! Jake was signaling me that he’s in trouble, not just some run-of-the-mill inconvenience trouble—dire trouble.”
“I guess I follow you, but you still seem to be making quite a leap of faith,” Frank said.
“Not really. When you’re as used to JK’s Code as I am, it’s a snap. Besides, there’s more in Jake’s first email, a lot more,” Leah urged.
“Show me,” Frank replied, a bit more receptive, but still not yet convinced.
“One. Jake’s emails are always … dry. His salutations never begin with DEAR. I’m lucky if I get a HEY, let alone a HI, but certainly never a DEAR. Never. And never any exclamation marks.”
Frank nodded. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Look at the body of his email: HOPE YOU’RE WELL. WE NEED TO CATCH UP. You know Jake. He’s quiet, understated. He never makes small talk like that. He never shows any sign of warmth. He always has to look tough, macho, even though I know better. Whether he realizes that or not. He’d never sign off with something like LOVE or HUGS. And he wouldn’t ever say JAKE. All I ever get at the end of an email, if I get any personalization at all, is JK. He wouldn’t sign off with JAKE. Everything about this email spells trouble—serious, serious trouble.
Frank glanced at what he had written on the seven lines of his notepad.
DEAR.
DEAR –> DIAR.
DIAR –> DIER.
DIER –> DIRE.
SIS! –> SOS!
SOS! –> SOS!
DEAR SIS! –> DIRE SOS!
And what about the second email? Frank looked at it for a few minutes and jotted onto his notepad.
BUKAR –> BAKER
ABCIM –> EBCOM
U- –> A-
He showed Leah what he had written down. “If, under your rules, the u loops back around to an A. Does it?”
JK's Code (Brooks/Lotello Thriller Book 4) Page 24