“You need to eat,” Mrs. Gomez said. “Keep up your strength.”
As Mrs. Gomez pointed at the steaming tray piled with half-moon-shaped pastries, Nina noticed her puffy red-rimmed eyes and the dark circles underneath them.
Nina reached out to touch her arm. “Don’t worry about me, Mrs. G.”
“Ay, mi’ja,” Mrs. Gomez said, voice trembling. “I cannot stand to see what that cabrón did to you.”
“Why don’t you sit with us?” Nina said.
Mrs. G fished out a tissue from the pocket of her apron and blew her nose. “I have food in the oven.” She headed for the door, paused, and turned back to Nina. “If the empanadas do not make you feel better”—she pulled a pint of tequila from the other apron pocket and plunked the bottle on the table next to the casserole—“try this.” She burst into tears and left.
Nina turned to Bianca. “What the hell?”
“That’s what I’ve been dealing with since that video came out.” Bianca gave her a wry smile. “She thinks you’re her foster daughter, too, you know.”
Nina quickly shut down the warmth spreading through her, switching to suspect interrogation, which felt far more familiar to her than motherly concern.
She leveled her best no-nonsense glare on Bianca. “We were discussing how you and your team are going to drop out of this investigation.”
“Um . . . no,” Bianca said. “We were talking about how much I’ve already helped. Seriously, I should be on the FBI’s payroll. How else would you know about the latest in Cipherdom?”
Nina rolled her eyes. Great, a new word added to the internet lexicon. “What now?”
“You know that doofus in Boston who tried to sell the envelope he found taped to a trash can by putting it up for auction on eBay?”
She nodded. “You showed me the listing.”
“The Cipher just posted the clue on his wall,” Bianca said. “With a comment that the FBI shouldn’t be allowed to keep it secret. Says it’s not fair play.”
Nina groaned. All the effort that went into tracking down the eBay seller and recovering the envelope had only bought them a twenty-hour head start. They’d used the time to locate the picture puzzle the Cipher had placed in Savannah, but how long would he wait before posting that online as well?
Chapter 38
Nina sat in the corner of the crowded task force room at the monitor beside the Cyber team, the morning’s first cup of coffee resting on the table beside the mouse pad. She glowered at the screen as she read the message.
CIPHER: DID U THINK U COULD CHEAT AND HIDE IT FROM MY FANS? I DECIDE WHAT TO RELEASE AND WHEN TO RELEASE IT. NOT U, WARRIOR GIRL.
Four hours earlier, before dawn, a team of Scoobies had figured out the Cipher’s poem referred to the Waving Girl statue and promptly went online to complain that no additional clue was planted there. Within minutes, the Cipher had responded by posting the picture puzzle on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Pinterest.
“Every time we get ahead, the sonofabitch levels the playing field,” Kent said.
“Because he wants the chaos,” Wade said. “He needs cover for what he’s doing, and that means a crowd. If someone in the public doesn’t figure it out soon, he’ll post the solution to the picture puzzle right before or after he strikes again to cause maximum confusion.”
“Which means we need to solve the damn thing first so we can get the jump on him,” Kent said.
“Crypto’s been on it all night.” She glanced over to the opposite corner. “I hope they’re getting close.”
Kent followed her gaze. “In the meantime, we need to keep him occupied.”
Nina began typing. “How about this?”
FBI: WE HAVE AN ENTIRE TASK FORCE ON YOUR TRAIL. WE WILL CATCH YOU.
CIPHER: NOT IF I CATCH U FIRST, WARRIOR GIRL.
“He’s trying to rattle you,” Kent said. “Stay on message.”
FBI: YOU CAN TURN YOURSELF IN WITH YOUR ATTORNEY. NO HARM WILL COME TO YOU.
CIPHER: U THINK I’M SCARED OF U? OF THE FBI? DR. JEFFREY WADE HAS LEARNED NOTHING FROM HIS MISTAKE.
Frowning, Wade stepped closer. “Type exactly what I say.”
Nina obliged.
FBI: THIS IS DR. WADE. WHAT MISTAKE ARE YOU REFERRING TO?
CIPHER: TWO WORDS: CHANDRA BROWN.
Wade swore. “He’s taunting me now.”
Kent nudged her shoulder. “Go ahead and ask him about Chandra.”
After giving both profilers a long look, she made her next message short and to the point.
FBI: DID YOU KILL HER?
CIPHER: I HAVE ARRANGEMENTS TO MAKE. NO MORE TIME 4 TALK.
He would not respond to any further messages.
Nina pushed away from the keyboard. “He’s toying with us and wasting our time. He said the next one would die in four days. It’s already been three.”
“Which makes me wonder,” Kent said. “Why this new break in pattern? In the past, his clues have always led directly to a body.”
“It was a distraction,” Wade said. “He must need extra time to get the next victim lined up.”
Nina pictured the Cipher out in the streets, hunting. He had them chasing their tails while he was stalking another girl. Frustration gnawed at her.
“Each clue gets progressively more difficult,” Wade said. “The first was a rudimentary substitution cipher. The next operated on the same principle but added an extra layer of calculation and flipped part of the code. After that, we get a rhyming couplet, a complete departure for him. This time, he gives us something that seems to combine art and mathematics.”
“He’s showing off,” Kent said.
“I agree,” Buxton said. He had come up behind them. “I was following the direct messages. He’s jerking us around while he stages his next kill. We have all the manpower we need, what we are running out of is time. I’d like to brainstorm some ideas about how to proceed with the investigation now that we have a better handle on who we’re dealing with.” He swept his arm toward the massive space and the scores of personnel at their workstations. “We have resources, let’s use them.”
“Can we try another search for the Cipher’s biological parents?” Nina asked. “Did the Borr Project include prospective donors from around the world, throughout the US, or just in the DC area?”
“We don’t know,” Kent said. “There’s no way to continue the search.”
“We might get some new leads if we told the public about the Borr Project connection,” Breck said, joining their discussion. “But how much do we tell the public at this point in the investigation, if anything?”
Buxton looked like he needed an antacid. “I don’t want to release information about the Borr Project unless we absolutely have to.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Imagine how the bloggers and tweeters and conspiracy theorists would react. Rumors would run rampant about superpredators stalking young girls.” He shook his head. “And the other grown children from the project who are now perfectly normal adults could get a lot of blowback they don’t deserve.”
It was similar to what Dr. Borr’s son had told them, and she agreed but privately felt they were on borrowed time until the information leaked, especially now that various field office agents around the country had interviewed children of the Borr Project.
She was preparing to discuss this with the group when the lead cryptanalyst, Otto Goldstein, charged over to them, practically vibrating with intensity.
“Give me some good news about that picture puzzle,” Buxton said, a hint of desperation in his voice.
Goldstein beamed, his thick wire-rimmed glasses glinting under the fluorescent lights. “We solved it.”
Chapter 39
FBI Gulfstream jet
Somewhere over the Midwest
Nina sat next to Wade at the small table across from Kent and Buxton. Breck sat across the aisle, her laptop propped on a tray table unfolded from her armrest.
Buxton was pressing buttons on the in-flight tele
vision’s remote. “National news,” he mumbled, flicking through the channels until he found the one he wanted.
Nina recognized Amy Chen, the senior anchor. The crawl below her stated BREAKING NEWS. SCIENTIST CLAIMS MILLION DOLLAR REWARD.
“Next, we’ll hear from the scientist who cracked the code,” Chen said into the camera. “With me in studio is retired FBI Executive Assistant Director Shawna Jackson for an insider’s take on the progress of this high-stakes investigation. All this and more as we bring you continuing coverage, right after the break.”
“Shawna cleared everything with me before she agreed to go on,” Buxton said over the drone of a dishwashing detergent commercial. “Given what she did for us, I could hardly ask her not to talk.”
The network had contacted Shawna for comment an hour before when a scientist in California agreed to provide his solution to the Savannah puzzle in an exclusive live interview. Shawna had brokered a deal in which she agreed to discuss some of the particulars of the investigation in exchange for sitting on the story for an hour so Buxton and the Quantico team could get a head start toward the next destination. Buxton had asked Shawna to negotiate a twenty-four-hour hold, but the news channel had balked.
Chen was back on screen, Shawna sitting next to her.
“Before we speak to the former executive assistant director,” Chen began, “let’s hear from Dr. Charles Farnsworth, who studies spectroscopy in his California research lab.” The screen split to reveal a heavyset man with a receding hairline and bushy mustache. “Tell us, Dr. Farnsworth, how did you discover the meaning behind the clue, and what is the answer?”
Farnsworth’s cheeks grew ruddy as he stared blankly at the camera.
“Dr. Farnsworth?”
Nina recognized the signs of stage fright. The man had obviously just realized his fifteen minutes of fame were upon him, and he was nowhere near prepared.
Chen threw him a lifeline. “Perhaps you could tell us about your work first?”
Chen hadn’t made it to the top of her profession without learning how to coax a nervous interviewee.
Farnsworth appeared relieved. “I study the interaction between matter and electromagnetic radiation,” he said.
Chen looked like she was fighting a massive eye roll. “Can you put that in layman’s terms, Doctor?”
“I study the light spectrum.”
“Okay, and how did that help you with the clue?”
Farnsworth, now started, warmed to his subject. “The three-digit numbers inside the lines represent the electromagnetic waves, as expressed in terahertz, of the frequency interval of colors detectable by the human eye.”
Chen blinked, then spoke with exaggerated patience. “Doctor, most of our viewers don’t study light. Could you say it more directly?”
Farnsworth thought a moment. “Each number represents a shade of color.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Chen smiled, apparently finished with the scientist’s technobabble and ready to drop her bombshell on a waiting audience. “We used Dr. Farnsworth’s findings to fill in the spaces on the diagram,” she said, facing the audience again as the split screen went momentarily dark. “Here’s what the picture reveals.”
Nina leaned forward along with the rest of her team as the stylized image of a bright orange-red bird against a backdrop of blue and green filled the screen. Yellow flames blazed out from its wings and tail feathers.
“Looks like a phoenix bird to me,” Chen said, turning to Shawna. “Retired Executive Assistant Director Jackson is close to Nina Guerrera and has been in touch with the team from Quantico. What do they think about the picture?”
“They’re operating under the assumption that it’s a phoenix,” Shawna said.
“What will they do now?”
“First, they need to determine what location this refers to. There are cities named Phoenix in Arizona, Illinois, Louisiana, Maryland, Michigan, New York, and Oregon. And that’s only in the US.”
“Surely he’s referring to Arizona,” Chen said, frowning. “It’s the only big city in the group.”
“It seems likely,” Shawna said. “But we’re covering all bases.”
Nina tore her eyes from the monitor to look at Wade, who had been the one to recommend Arizona as the most likely location. He had studied the Cipher’s past patterns and—like Chen—had concluded that he seemed to prefer large cities where he could blend in. Nina thought she caught a wistful smile on Wade’s face as he focused on Shawna.
“I also see this clue doesn’t provide specifics about where the killer will strike,” Chen said.
“In the past, he named the exact spot where a body was recovered,” Shawna said. “This time, it’s a whole city, and—if it turns out to be Phoenix, Arizona—that means over five hundred square miles of urban and desert terrain.”
“Seems like he’s being more deceptive. There’s no way to cover that kind of area.” Chen gestured toward the camera. “What can the public do to help the FBI?”
“Report any suspicious behavior,” Shawna said. “We have an eight-hundred number set up.”
“Here we go,” Kent said. “Twenty thousand calls from cranks, conspiracy theorists, and psychics communing with the dead girls’ spirits . . . and maybe—just maybe—one valid lead somewhere in the mix.”
Chen touched her ear, eyes widening. “Our social media team is reporting a new post on the Cipher’s Facebook page.” Chen gave a curt nod, then turned back to the camera. “We’re putting it up now. Some people may find this image disturbing. We advise viewer discretion.”
Nina looked at the picture that had suddenly filled the screen. A young girl clutching a large poster board had been photographed from the neck down to her waist, only her bare hands and a thin section of her stomach visible to the camera. On the white surface of the board, bold block letters scrawled in black marker conveyed a message.
COME AND GET ME, WARRIOR GIRL.
I HAVE SIX HOURS TO LIVE.
Nina felt the weight of everyone’s gaze upon her in the confines of the plane. As Wade and Kent had said, the Cipher’s obsession with her was driving him. He had begun with her and he would keep going until he ended with her. He did not want to merely kill her—he wanted to possess her, control her, and finally, utterly destroy her.
Her. Nina Guerrera. Warrior Girl.
She glanced up to see Kent narrow his eyes at her, no doubt reading the resolve in her expression and interpreting it correctly. He mouthed the word no, slowly shaking his head.
But she had already made up her mind. Girls had been killed in DC, San Francisco, and Boston. This time, there was a live victim. Someone who could be saved. Whatever it took, Phoenix would not become another killing ground for the Cipher.
Chapter 40
Three hours later
Emergency Operations Center, Phoenix, Arizona
Nina scanned the high-tech EOC. Colocated with the fire department’s training academy, the new facility featured state-of-the-art technology. FBI agents from the Phoenix field office mingled with detectives and patrol supervisors as well as brass from the Phoenix PD. An array of civilian technical and support personnel milled throughout the expansive space—a typical war-room scenario she was becoming all too familiar with.
As in Boston, she had been paired with a local police detective, this time from the PPD Homicide unit. Her new partner, Javier Perez, had an athlete’s build showcased in gray dress slacks and a navy polo shirt. His thick black hair and caramel skin matched her own. He was the polar opposite of Delaney, the burly Irish cop from Boston.
Thanks to the tip line, hundreds of calls had swamped the center as soon as the news story aired. Scores of detectives, agents, and patrol officers had been assigned to follow up on the more promising leads funneled to the EOC from call takers manning the lines.
Like the other teams, Nina and Perez had been handed a stack of lead sheets. Buxton had flagged her down before she headed out. She’d quickly scanned the sheet he handed her
. The caller had identified herself as a sixteen-year-old girl living in a shelter, checking off two of the Cipher’s criteria for victims. Then she’d indicated her friend had gone missing after getting into an RV with a stranger. Finally, she’d said she thought she recognized a tribal tattoo around the wrist of the girl who was holding the sign. Her missing friend had the same body art. The hairs had gone up on the back of Nina’s neck when she read it.
“My ride’s in the lot,” Perez said. “You need anything else before we head out?”
She picked up a leather portfolio from the table. “I’m good.”
As she followed him toward the door, Kent stepped in front of her. He lowered his voice. “Don’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“Whatever you were thinking of on the airplane. I saw the look on your face.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The unsub wants you to do something reckless. To make a mistake.”
“Perez and I are going to check out our leads. Same as you and your partner.”
He shot a glare in Perez’s direction. “I don’t like the look of him.”
“Good thing you’re not assigned with him, then.”
Perez joined them. “Is there a problem?”
The two men gave each other appraising looks.
She rolled her eyes. “When you two are done thumping your chests, I’ll be in the parking lot.”
Perez caught up to her in the hallway. She noticed him eyeing her speculatively, but he said nothing until he stopped beside a black Tahoe in the first row of parking spaces.
“The shelter isn’t far from here,” he said as he walked around to the driver’s door.
After buckling herself in, she opened her portfolio to pull out the call-in sheet Buxton had given her. “Interview subject is Emma Fisher, a sixteen-year-old currently staying at the downtown shelter for women and girls with her mother.”
Perez pulled onto the street. “Does Emma’s mother know she called in the tip?”
Nina scanned down the page. “Don’t think so. Says Emma saw the story on the news and asked to use the phone at the front desk.” She glanced over at Perez. “I’ll bet she doesn’t want her mother to know she was out last night.”
The Cipher Page 23