by Drew Murray
“I’ll tell you, I promise,” I say, looking into her dark brown eyes. “But first we have to get out of sight before whoever’s coming gets here.”
Her eyes gaze into mine, searching for honesty. She must be satisfied with what she finds, because eventually she nods and says simply, “Lead on.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We find a dark, empty room across from the entrance to the vendor hall. I don’t know who’s coming back tonight, but I know what they’re after, and it’s in there. Anyone walking by the room would see only a darkened doorway, but inside, the light from the hall casts a dim pool between us. Dana waits patiently, sitting at the edge of shadows in one of the padded conference chairs as we eat the dry, chewy bagels. I’ve told her I would answer her questions. Now it’s up to me to deliver.
“You want to know how I ended up at the FBI,” I say, pausing to wash down the last bite with coffee. “Short answer, because after months of studying under an old karate master on a mountain in Okinawa, an elderly couple was murdered in the village below. After I found their killers by tracking stolen items online, I wanted to do more like that.”
Dana blinks, her brow rising high and eyes widening. Likely not what she expected.
“But you want the long answer. You want to know how I ended up there from Silicon Valley.”
“I want to know why,” she says, leaning forward.
“The night the tsunami hit Fukushima, I was supposed to be on a plane to Tokyo. But I wasn’t. I was in my office because Salazar Burke came knocking on my door to ask for my help.”
“Wait, the Burke I know?” asks Dana, tilting her head.
“One and the same,” I say with a sigh. “That’s how we met, and that’s how he knows what I meant. He was a SAC back then, a Special Agent in Charge in the Criminal division. The day I met him he was hunting a serial killer named Bruce Sterling, who had just lifted a college girl, Kate Mason, from her dorm.”
“Did you find him?” Dana asks from the shadows.
“Yes,” I say slowly, nodding. “But it went wrong. The Bureau had tracked Sterling down online, where he was using our software, but not in real life. Which meant they had no idea where Kate was being held. Our app was encrypted and they wanted us to break through that to find him. But we were launching a big marketing campaign, focusing on the security and privacy of our service. Burke knew we’d say no if they just showed up with a court order for the location. So, he came with a better plan.”
I rest my elbows on my knees and she does the same, our faces just outside the pool of light but clearly visible, making me feel connected to her, and yet distant.
“He sat Jack and me down, and told us the story of Kate Mason. He showed us her childhood photos and videos, following up with the milestones of her young life: first date, senior prom, freshman year of college. Facebook posts with her boyfriend, happy and in love. Burke made her real.
“Then he showed us pictures of Sterling’s last victim. Mutilated. Exsanguinated. Bled out like a cow, her pale body posed for pictures like a china doll. It was the most horrible thing I’d ever seen. Then he told us that the guy that did those things had Kate, and was going to do them to her. It was more powerful than any Silicon Valley pitch I’ve ever heard.”
So far what I’ve told Dana is all public record, typed up in an FBI report on file in LA. To tell the rest, I have to go off the record. Way, way off the record. This is my last chance to bail. To stand up, walk away, and go back to the way things have been ever since. So what if Dana doesn’t trust me? Does it really matter? Jack’s face comes to me again, and I remember.
What will she do when I tell her? Worst case? She reports what I did to Burke, who walks me from the FBI, the last paragraph in my Wikipedia entry changing to “Controversy and Death.” Best case? I don’t have a best case.
This is the closest I’ve been to the Unicorn since the tsunami. Back then, I told myself the enormous good of bringing the quantum computer to market would make Kate’s death in some way okay. That if I could do something big enough, something worthwhile, it would make up for the mistake I made. Then it disappeared. In my heart, I know that if I don’t do everything in my power to get it, no matter how difficult, there will be no coming back from a very dark path. The chances of finding the Unicorn are better with Dana on my side, and for that I need her to trust me. For her to trust me, I need to trust her first.
I tell her everything.
From the app I used to keep an eye on staff to how Jack and I used it to find Sterling, I hold nothing back. When I get to my mistake, and how it gave Sterling enough warning to kill Kate before the help could arrive, shame burns hotly on my face. I’m glad for the dim light.
When I finish, a silence stretches out between us like a chasm.
“And that’s why you left for Japan and didn’t come back?”
There’s one more piece to the puzzle. The capstone on the bridge of my despair.
“At the same moment Sterling was killing Kate, news broke that a tsunami had hit Fukushima and the reactor at the power plant was in meltdown. We’d breached our own encryption, gotten a young woman killed, and the Fukushima deal was in flames. It was too much to process. Everything Jack and I had worked so hard to build was teetering like a house of cards in the wind. So, I made a decision. I convinced Jack not to mention the mistake to the FBI. He went along with it. He never said a word, because he trusted me. I was his friend.”
I gaze down at my feet. The black and white contrast of my Converse seemingly glowing in the dark. When I continue, I don’t look up.
“Jack was a simple, honest guy. He wasn’t cut out to carry that burden. While I was in Japan chasing the Unicorn, he randomly blew up one day, yelling at people. No one knew what set him off, but it ended with him going home to shoot himself in the head in his backyard. No note. No explanation.”
Closing my eyes, I press my hands into my temples to fend off the headache that has nothing to do with caffeine this time.
“When I got the news, I disappeared. I shut off my phone and drifted around the Japanese islands until one day, on a dock in Okinawa, I met a fisherman who needed help with his nets. That wise old fisherman had a wise old brother with a dojo on the mountain. Which brings us full circle back to how I ended up at the FBI. Burke even wrote me a letter of recommendation for my application. Drink in that irony for a minute.”
When I finally open my eyes, I don’t see the look of disappointment on Dana’s face that is so familiar in my own reflection. What I see is sympathy, which somehow feels worse.
“You can’t keep punishing yourself for what happened,” she says, finally, breaking the silence.
“Is this where you tell me we all make mistakes?”
“We do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. Whether you admit it or not. You did your best, but you failed. Now you’re trying to reverse it, but you can’t. No amount of good work at the FBI will ever be able to undo what’s been done.”
Is this supposed to be helping? When I look at Dana’s eyes, I still see sympathy, but not pity. And not judgment, which confuses me. I frown.
“It’s hard to live up to a legend, Will. Even if it’s your own.”
My mouth opens, but I don’t speak because I don’t know what to say.
“Let me ask you this: What was your biggest failure in the Valley before the tsunami?”
Looking up and away I rack my brain, thinking of my early companies that didn’t become something big. I think about school papers I cut corners on. After a few seconds, she interrupts my thoughts.
“You’re struggling because you don’t have one. Not like this, where someone died. Now that’s happened, and you don’t know how to deal with it. You tried running, but that doesn’t work because the voice that won’t stop judging you is your own.”
How does she know all this? It’s like she’s plugged into my brain and reading the source code.
“According to your Wikip
edia page, you had a lot of success from a very young age. I’ll bet you could always pull out a win, depending on your brilliance and relentless hard work to pull you through. The problem with that is, sometimes it’s not enough. Sometimes no matter how prepared you are, and well trained you are, shit just goes wrong.”
There’s something in the way she says it that sounds personal. “Firsthand experience?”
“You could say that.” She stands up. “I’m going to go get a drink of water. In the meantime, you don’t have the only name that will come up in Google.”
With that she walks out the door.
I can’t pull out my phone fast enough. I can’t believe I haven’t searched for her name on the web. She’s a prominent detective. She must have worked cases that hit the media. And maybe she has. But when I hit search and see the results that come back, none of the hits on the first page have anything to do with Indiana. They’re all from Miami, and they aren’t good.
As I read, my heart begins to break for her, because I know the pain she must be feeling. Yeah, she made a mistake all right. Immediately, I can’t help but compare her mistake to mine. Neither of us meant to make them. Hers was a judgment call that could have gone either way, where mine was sloppiness. Mine involved a murderous monster who did the killing not me, where hers was the finger on the trigger.
When she comes back in the room, I stand.
“I’m sorry.”
She stands toe to toe with me. Her eyes locked on mine. They’re red and puffy. Maybe she’s just tired. I don’t think so.
“Yeah, so am I.”
The silence between us isn’t a chasm anymore. The distance between us disappeared when I read what she’d done.
“So, you—”
“Killed a kid. Yeah, I did. Like the articles said. The staircase was dark. The bulb was burned out. I couldn’t see him clearly. He had a replica gun. He thought I was part of a game. He pointed it at me. I was there on a shots-fired call, so connected the dots. And I was wrong.”
“But you couldn’t have—”
“Don’t do that,” she says quickly. “I’ve already been through every reason, every excuse for what I did and I’ve defeated them all. It was dark? I could have turned on my flashlight. He pointed a gun? I should have known it was a replica. Around and around it goes. No matter how brilliant you are, Will Parker, there’s no ‘what if’ you can think of that I haven’t already. Just like you’ve thought of all the excuses for not changing that code and all the reasons they’re bullshit.”
She’s right. How many sleepless nights did I ask myself those questions? How many times did I go over that day in my head? How many times did my nightmares serve up Jack on his knees between the BBQ and the kiddie pool in his yard?
“I had no idea,” I say lamely. “I didn’t search your name, and you just seem so …” I struggle for the word. Normal is what leaps to mind, but that’s not it. Functional?
“Not like someone who made a mistake she’s gotta live with the rest of her life?” she says, exhaling sharply.
“Yeah, that.”
“Here’s where I bake your noodle, Will. I made a choice. And it’s one you’re going to have to make, too. Right now, you’re torn and that means you’re stuck.”
My brow furrows, but she continues.
“You can choose to keep your eyes on the past. You’ll see the same thing every day. It will never change. Keep doing that and eventually it’s all you can see. Or, you choose to keep your eyes on the future. Every day is different. And you can do something about it.”
“But what about Kate, and Jack?”
“They’re dead.”
My jaw drops at her harshness.
“Will, they are. And there’s no amount of self-flagellation that’s going to change that. Trust me, I know.” She pauses to take a breath.
“Let me ask you another question,” she continues. “You’re an FBI Agent—”
Special Agent.
“—what’s the largest case you’ve ever worked?” she asks.
The answer comes quickly. “Human trafficking ring between San Francisco, China, and Vancouver.”
“How many victims?”
“Forty-three women,” I say without hesitation.
“I think I know what choice they’d want you to make. Those lives matter, Will. They all matter. Not just Kate’s. Or Jack’s. But it’s your call.”
Before I can answer, there’s a noise out in the main hall. We hold our breath, waiting to see who comes into view. Is it a witness?
No. It’s the security guard. We watch as he slowly saunters by, his head down and gaze buried in his phone. He jerks his hands to the right, then the left. He’s playing a game, oblivious to everything around him. If Decker saw this, he’d lose his mind. He passes without noticing us in the room off the hall.
Turning from the door, I find Dana right next to me. I can feel her warmth. The smell of new t-shirt mixes with stale coffee, but it isn’t unappealing. I’ve never talked about the mistake I made the night of the tsunami because I feared the judgment that would surely follow, from someone that couldn’t possibly understand the responsibility. But I was wrong. Dana can. What if she’s right? Is escaping the past as simple as choosing the future?
Forget about t-shirts and fandoms. There’s something much deeper we have in common. I must say something; to acknowledge her openness. Somehow. I have to say something.
Before I can speak, my phone vibrates. Bradley.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bradley W: Got a ping on Caplan’s phone. At the hotel. Around time of shooting. You see anything?
Me: No. Where now?
Bradley W: Disappeared.
Me: Shut off?
Bradley W: No, just gone.
Bradley W: Possibly Faraday bag. Or a ghost in the machine.
Bradley W: Finished profile on Caplan.
Bradley W: Forty-one. Community college diploma. Con thing for six years.
Bradley W: Recently divorced. Amanda, eighteen, only child.
Bradley W: Social media - promotes business, nothing personal. Some gripes. Nothing unusual.
Bradley W: Finances poor. Lots of travel, all budget. Taxes filed on time. No audits.
Bradley W: Credit card debt. Divorce debt. Child support.
Bradley W: $10K savings. Withdrawn three weeks ago.
Me: Japan travel?
Bradley W: Tokyo. Two weeks ago. DHS confirms same trip, same week, for past five years.
Me: Laptop?
Bradley W: Malware galore. Trojans. Mostly inactive on macOS.
Me: Browsing history? Porn?
Bradley W: Divorced guy. What do you think? All legal.
Me: Messages?
Bradley W: Mainly business and travel. Some from Amanda about trip.
Bradley W: One with a Gordon Webb about a Star Wars collectible. Refers to convo a month ago. Code?
Me: No, I saw it. Han Solo in carbonite. You’d like it.
Me: Dark Net? Any luck on IDs?
Bradley W: None.
Me: Gotta go. TTYL
The sound of movement echoes down the hall outside the darkened room where Dana and I wait. The conversation about Sterling and what happened in Miami has taken us past midnight. Someone’s coming and it’s not likely the guard since he wandered by, not too long ago, nose still in his phone.
“Who are we expecting?” Dana whispers, hand going automatically to her Smith and Wesson. She steps back until her face disappears in the gloom, but I can see the whites of her eyes. She’s looking toward the hall, still as a statue.
“First, the collectibles thief. Second, whoever broke into the RV.”
Third, my watcher.
“What RV?”
“More of a mobile display vehicle, really.”
“Couldn’t it be the same person?”
“Two different MOs,” I say, shaking my head. “Collectibles thief grabs things up off the tables that look like they might be worth a buck.
The break-in at the RV was more sophisticated. They picked the lock. Lots of valuable gear inside, but they ignored it. They were looking for something that wasn’t there. But it is tonight.”
“How do you know this?”
“Knock and talks this afternoon.”
“A more skilled thief. Professional?”
“Maybe.”
“One that might also be after a Fukushima Unicorn?”
“Here they come,” I whisper as the sound of footsteps approach.
Dana sweeps silently over to the doorway for a better angle. I follow, sliding up close behind her.
The hall’s cavernous space is broken up by pockets of furniture arranged into seating areas. Small, sleek sofas and chairs. I remember seeing them covered with people earlier today.
Dana’s blocking my view; I can’t see the source of the footsteps. “Do they look dangerous?” I whisper.
“Not exactly,” she whispers back.
Leaning out to look around her, I see a group of young people. Late teens. They’re sliding along the wall like mimes, heading directly for the long row of maroon fire doors into the vendor hall. The one at the front, a tall boy, slowly slips open one of the doors with barely a squeak and disappears inside. Two more boys and a girl follow him. The door clicks shut. If they had any idea Dana and I were watching them, they didn’t show it.
“Did Caplan have any more kids?” Dana asks.
“No, just the one.” I fill her in on the profile Bradley worked up.
“Anyone else?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, looking both ways. “Looks like the kids are alone.”
Clapping my hands together shatters the silence of the room. “All right. Let’s go talk to some witnesses.”
“What witnesses?”
“They just walked by.”
“Those kids?” Dana asks, frowning. “I thought we were looking for professionals.”
“That was them,” I say, walking out into the main hall. “Don’t be ageist.”