The Search

by Alex Howell

  Mason gave a gruff cough. He may have agreed with what Tess had to say, but that didn’t mean that he had to believe it was the most likely outcome.

  Frankly, it didn’t matter who did it so long as they suffered for what they had done.

  But first, he had a daughter to rescue—and there was no price, no possibility, nothing he was willing to rule out to get her back.

  21

  Date: May 12th, 2028

  Time: 8:44 p.m.

  Location:Washington, D.C.

  * * *

  With an emphasis on speed outside the zone of watchful technology, Mason and Tessa arrived in Washington D.C. in the next hour thanks to a little bit of speeding. A sense of foreboding overwhelmed Mason as he moved in—just a few miles away from where he was, the terrorists had Clara. Somewhere, his daughter was in a basement, without food or water, bound to a chair, and God knows what else.

  Mason didn’t want to think of what he would do to her captors when he saw them, because doing so did nothing more than send him into a blind rage. He had to think about the task in front of him, remain focused, and not let his mind expand beyond.

  It was a stark contrast to his days in the military, but, as Mason had discovered, the love a parent had for their child was beyond anything that anyone could have felt for anyone else. It was, he realized with a stir of emotion, stronger than even the love he had had for Bree.

  What that meant for his future was a question he could contemplate another day. For now, he had a duty to fulfill.

  Although Mason lived less than an hour away from the United States’ capital, he had not been down there in years—he had become something of a recluse after Bree had passed on. He had taken Clara away from Concord, feeling too much pain at being in the town, and moved her to Baltimore—the closest metropolitan to Bree’s parents. It allowed them to remain in their granddaughter’s life, and Mason got to get away from the emotional attachments he had to his old locations without breaking the bank.

  But he had very little knowledge of what D.C. was like these days, and Tessa had to fill him in. “Cameras everywhere,” “technology monitoring you like you wouldn’t believe,” “camera-free zones are considered sacred ground,” and enough other phrases to scare Mason into believing that he would never go anywhere without his face getting recognized. The thought crossed his mind to purchase a ski mask to hide his face, but, at this point, he didn’t want to delay any further. If this was the last task, then it was the last thing he needed to do before seeing his daughter.

  Tessa parked on the street just across from the IRS, finding a largely empty building and lot, given the late hour. But with all of Tessa’s warnings from beforehand, Mason felt anything but alone.

  “That’s what you’re looking for,” she said. “The building closed for visitors at five, but I think you’ll be able to work some magic.”

  “I don’t need magic,” Mason gruffly said. “I need things to happen.”

  “What do you think I call what I do for you?”

  Mason looked at Tessa, who was smiling at him, and shook his head. Maybe a little humor wasn’t the worst at a time like this.

  “I might kiss you for real if I get Clara back before tomorrow,” he said.

  Tessa blushed.

  “Go take care of things,” she said. “I arranged some help for you while you were sleeping.”

  “While you were driving?” Mason said.

  “What, you think those auto driving cars are going to get pissed at me if I drift a lane over?”

  Mason could just shrug. He really was a bit behind the times—the fact that he knew that but did not immediately jump to that conclusion told him as much.

  “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. I’ll be here whenever you come out.”

  With that, Tessa drove off to some undetermined location as Mason got out and proceeded to the building.

  As Mason approached, he wondered what surprises were in store for him this time. An old war buddy? VIP access? A surprise appearance from Harnad Abdi, revealing that this whole thing had been one giant, ill-advised practical joke that would result in more than a few punches being thrown?

  What trouble would show up now? Would it be good, or would it be bad? Would it appear to be one, only to wind up being the other?

  Doesn’t much matter. Better hope Tessa can work some of her skills over.

  As he got to the front door, Mason saw no one there. In fact, not even a security guard or a secretary awaited inside, a far cry from the CIA or mayor’s office. It made Mason wonder if the IRS didn’t have as much need, or if their technology was just so much more advanced that they no longer had the need for human personnel.

  Instead, Mason looked to his right and saw a fingerprint machine pulsing different colors, as if encouraging him to press his hand. That seemed like a really bad idea for the purposes of not being tracked, but, then again, that ship had already sailed hours ago, hadn’t it?

  He first tried to open the door, but it was as sealed shut as two doors welded together. Mason didn’t see any windows within climbing distance either. He also didn’t have anything in sight that could break down the door, like a brick or a rock.

  They wouldn’t have sent me here if they didn’t think I couldn’t pull this off. Tessa said she was working her magic.

  I’ll start believing in magic if we can get this to work, Tessa.

  With a groan and a shake of his head, Mason pushed his hand on the pad, feeling no other choice—but only after he had grabbed his gun with his other hand.

  “Full access granted,” a voice said. “Welcome, Thomas Perez.”

  The head of the IRS?

  You’re basically a magician at this point, Tessa.

  Mason walked inside, keeping his head low in case the various security systems did not work in conjunction with each other. He may have been illiterate technologically, but he knew about multiple points of failures—keeping the system decentralized would allow multiple lines of protection. He dodged cameras, avoided closed hallways, and looked for stairs instead of elevators.

  He wanted to get to the center of the building, which, given that it was five floors, would require going to the third floor. He just had to hope this wasn’t like the mayor’s office, where some impressive technological and secretive aspects of the building prevented almost the entire population from getting where he needed to go.

  Fortunately, whether because the IRS didn’t have the budget to upgrade themselves or because of some archaic federal rules, Mason didn’t have to worry about that at all. The third floor was as if built in the early-21st century—actually accessible by stairs.

  He came to the third floor, pushed open the stair doors, and saw row after row of empty cubicles, places where employees had once sat but were now either on post-tax day vacation or had simply been automated out through the increase in technology. Perhaps in years past, this place would have been buzzing with coffee-enabled employees seeking respite from the work, one last boost to make it through yet another return, or just someone not wanting to go home.

  But times were changing, and Mason didn’t have time to contemplate such matters. He instead had to make it to the middle.

  Taking advantage of the empty space, he hurried to the center cubicle and placed Abdi’s phone in the middle. He flipped it open, muttered “Don’t you explode on me,” and held down the “1” button. He held his breath as he anticipated a bomb, even with all that Luke had said about it probably being a computer screen.

  A few seconds passed as the phone booted to life. Moments thereafter, the screen went blue, with the white words “In Progress” following.

  “Good enough,” Mason grumbled as he hurried at a reasonably casual pace out of the office, as if hurrying home to grab some beers before it got too late, but quietly still very much fearing an unexpected explosion—even if the phone wasn’t a bomb, there was no reason to believe there weren’t already bombs in there that the phone would activate.

 
; As soon as he exited the building, he turned around to wait for the building to erupt…

  And it never did.

  Whatever Mason had done, he had done so at minimum property damage and zero loss of life. The computer program on the phone was built for a reason other than physical destruction and mayhem. It surely had some sort of virtual powers Mason didn’t yet realize, but those could eventually be reversed

  And then two things happened at once that gave him some hope that he had moved closer to the end of his mission.

  One, Tessa pulled back around.

  And two, his phone rang again from the blocked number.

  22

  By now, Mason knew the game well enough that he didn’t have to guess who was calling or for what.

  But he did have to always guess the health of his daughter, fearful that failure to do so would make him run around on errands when they had no leverage on him any longer.

  “Reassure me that Clara is alive,” he demanded as soon as he picked up the phone.

  “That’s quite a thing to ask when you have no leverage,” the voice said, laughing. “But very well.”

  Mason waited for Clara to speak. But instead, he just heard silence on the other end of the line.

  “Do you think this is some kind of sick joke?” Mason said. “I did what you asked me to do. I dropped the device off at the IRS building. Swear to God, if you—”

  “Check the photos on your phone. And don’t bother thinking the number will trace back to us.”

  Mason paused, thought of swearing up a storm, and instead pulled it down so he could scroll through his photos. Sure enough, he had a picture message from, of all things, his own number, obviously indicating that the voice on the other end could mask its number both in calls and in messages. He pulled it open and saw Clara lying on the ground, eyes closed. He would have thought she was dead if not for the video that followed that showed her clearly breathing.

  “Satisfied?”

  “For now,” Mason growled. “But you’ll tell me where she is. I did everything you need—”

  “Everything we need so far, yes,” the voice said. “But we are not done yet.”

  Mason bit his tongue as he held himself back from unloading everything he had on the voice on the other end of the line. He had so many vile things to say that even he would feel a bit rough saying such words.

  “What more could you need?” he growled. “I’m on to your little game, you know.”

  “Don’t worry, your mission is much simpler than before,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, at the crack of dawn, bring Mr. Abdi and his comrades breakfast. They have requested an American breakfast of sorts. Eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes. Whatever you would feed Clara.”

  Mason pulled the phone away for a second, staring in disbelief. Not only was this task demeaning, it had a doubly dangerous effect—it would pull Mason away from Washington D.C.

  “Nope,” Mason said. “I’m not going to be your men’s waiter. I refuse. I know you have Clara here. I know that she’s somewhere here. If you think—”

  “And how would you possibly know such a thing, Mr. Walker?”

  Mason swore as he realized he had just all but given away that he was receiving outside help. Maybe they couldn’t pin it on Tessa yet, and maybe they would need more time to completely connect the dots, but Mason had just made a mistake that might have proved critical.

  “In any case, Mr. Walker, we are completely serious,” the voice continued, although Mason knew full well they weren’t just moving on so easily from what he had said. “We are humans too, you know. Unlike robots, we need nutrition to survive. See to it that you make that happen. Be at the first floor of the building you first dropped Abdi off at 8 a.m. sharp. Do not worry. We will ensure that you will be alone and unseen by other agents.”

  “Damn you,” Mason growled. He wanted to remind them that he would be back for his daughter, but his words had already done damage. They didn’t need to do any more. “Damn you all.”

  “And enjoy your evening as well, Mason.”

  With that, the call disconnected. Mason swore loudly, slamming his phone into the surrounding grass to avoid breaking it. How could he have made such a critical mistake? How could he have said such a thing and made it so obvious that he had aid?

  It was a mistake far beyond what Mason usually made. His captors had to have known the psychological tool this mission was having on him. They had to have known that, sooner or later, he would break as he had.

  But really, they had to have known that he was getting help this whole time, right? If that was the case, was this whole thing just them toying with him? Just having a good laugh at his expense?

  If so, then it was a legitimate question if Mason would ever even see Clara again. He certainly wasn’t going to see her tonight.

  Figuring he might as well continue as long as his daughter lived, Mason headed over to Tessa, waiting in the car. She rolled down the window without a hint of flirtation or charm, perhaps because they no longer had to put on a pretty face for the spies in New York City.

  That, and Mason was beginning to feel pretty fatalistic about doing things on his terms. It was just a matter of time before they figured out who she was and took advantage of her identity for the sake of hurting Mason somehow.

  “Well?”

  “We gotta go back to New York,” Mason said with a long sigh. “Sounds like we’re going to be waiters and waitresses in the morning.”

  “Seriously?” she said, menace in her eyes. “But Clara is here—”

  “I know,” Mason growled. “And there’s nothing more I’d like to do than rip up this entire city and pull her out from whatever hole they’ve put her in. But right now…”

  “This feels like a trap, Mason,” she said. “I’m worried they’re pulling you away. I mean, coffee and food? Seriously?”

  “What would you have me do, Tessa?” Mason said, trying not to raise his voice. “Huh? Have you been able to pull up anything?”

  Tessa’s look said it all.

  “I told you, whoever is doing this is way above our pay grade, Mason, and we’re pretty high up that ladder. It’ll crack eventually, but, until then, we’re not going to be able to figure out anything without any clues.”

  “Voice changes every time it calls. I can’t tell anything about where Clara is being held except it’s in a dark room. Whoever has her captive isn’t showing me anything about themselves other than what I already know. Blue eyes, white skin. Great, so it could be a few of a few hundred million.”

  Mason sighed.

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do. And I’ve never been in a spot like this. I’m always used to know what I need to do.”

  Tessa had no words. She looked incredibly disappointed in herself, as if she had failed at the task at hand. She hadn’t, Mason would never say she had, but, collectively, if their goal was to get Clara back and prevent the plan from unfolding, it was going very poorly.

  “We should just head back to New York,” Mason said with a long sigh. “We don’t know what they’re going to do if we go. But I do know they’re going to hurt Clara if we don’t go. I’d rather gamble on a die that I win sometimes than when I win never.”

  Tessa sighed and didn’t move for a long time before motioning for Mason to get in the vehicle.

  “Really hope you’re right,” she said.

  “It’s not your conscience that has to live with any fatal mistakes.”

  Tessa had the smarts not to respond to that statement.

  Given that it was barely after 8 p.m., they had more than half a day to get to New York, more than enough time given it was only going to be a four hour drive. Tessa never sped for the first half of the trip, moving at a gradual pace.

  Just around 10:30 p.m., she had to stop for gas, commenting on how nice it was to see gas below five bucks a gallon, a comment that drew a stony silence from Mason. He wasn’t mad at Tessa, but he had reached a sort of madness that both blin
ded him and made him mute. Bree herself could have suddenly shown up, and Mason wasn’t sure it would have done any good to see his wife in his current state. He was losing, he was losing by a wider margin with each passing mission, and the person most depending on him knew by her continual worse treatment he was losing the battle.

  “I’m going to run inside, do you need anything?” Tessa said when she had the car turned off.

  Mason shook his head no, but made it a point to watch Tessa go inside, look for the bathrooms, and close the door behind her. There was something he was curious to see, something that he had not yet asked Tessa about since being picked up, but something that had remained on his mind the whole time.

  He had asked Tessa if she had found anything when he first saw her after the IRS and she had said no. However, hours had passed since then. It was more than reasonable to believe that perhaps her system had cracked some sort of security measure that would give them more information.

  And he wanted to see it on his own.

  It wasn’t so much that he distrusted Tessa as that his own sense of believing and doubting others had forced him to verify something that he wasn’t sure she was being fully upfront about. That, and he was just in such an angry mood that he didn’t want her involvement any more than he already had. He would ask her to take him back to D.C. at some point, and once that was that, he’d send her home.

  If he couldn’t find Clara on a second trip back, he didn’t deserve to see her alive.

  He reached into her bag, found her tablet with the decryption information, and pulled it out. To his stunned surprise, she had left the tablet unlocked—perhaps a requirement for the program that she was running. He opened the program that was running the decryption.

  Sure enough, it was at 99.87 percent completion. It still had not wrapped up.