by Drew Murray
Me: No, need you to fly out here.
Ace P: When?
Me: Now.
Ace P: Busy this weekend. Staff event. Monday?
Me: Now. And bring $1 million cash.
Ace P: WTF? Seriously?
Me: Found the Unicorn.
Ace P: On my way.
Wallace “Ace” Prior has been the CEO of CastorNet since I left. It hasn’t been more than a handful of times that I’ve spoken to him since I handed over the reins.
Jack was my partner, but Ace was my chief lieutenant, running things day to day. He’s an operational genius, but I still left him holding the bag when I walked away with no transition plan. He’s a good man, and a friend. At least he used to be. He deserved better than what he got.
Back in the day, he used to invite me over for BBQs with his wife, Laureen, and their kids. Three of them. Blond. Running around and squealing. Not my thing, but a kindness all the same.
Ever since Burke called me in the middle of the night, it’s been one bad memory after another. Kate Mason. Bruce Sterling. Jack. The tsunami. But now, something comfortable stirs inside me, along with the adrenaline rush of gaining traction on the Unicorn. I’m looking forward to seeing Ace again. He pre-dates my life going off the rails. Maybe that’s why I haven’t talked to him since. I wanted to keep him a part of that before.
Now that I believe the Unicorn’s actually here, there’s another dimension: Who will keep it? Assuming we stay ahead of the auction and get our hands on it first, the government won’t let it go. It’ll be evidence. Best-case scenario, I’m directed by Burke to take it back to our labs in California. Worst-case scenario, another agent takes it away, never to be seen again. Who am I kidding? I know where it will end up. Vanishing into the NSA, it’ll be put to work surveilling … well, everyone on earth.
Running on the Unicorn, CastorNet’s software would start a technology revolution. From autonomous vehicles to virtual physicians, the Unicorn and its descendants would improve the lives of billions.
If the government is able to take the Unicorn in secret, they’d be able to weaponize it. With access to any surveillance device and every piece of data ever collected about a person, the Unicorn could predict a person’s thoughts and actions before they happen. What could any government do with that power, including our own? The Unicorn was intended to be a tool of empowerment, not oppression. For that to happen, it needs to stay out of government hands.
Which brings me to my current problem. I kind of am the government right now.
The safest place to put it is with Ace. CastorNet bought the remains of Fukushima Semiconductor including all intellectual property rights. Ace is now the CEO of that company. Once it’s in his possession, armies of lawyers in a very public fight would make it impossible for the government to take it in secret.
The trick is getting to Ace before the government can take it.
The interview over, Decker’s holding court in the conference room, pacing back and forth like a dog before a thunderstorm.
“What the hell is going on?” he demands as I walk in. “Who’s this guy on the bike? And what’s this plastic megaphone thing you’re all fired up about?”
Nassar’s still off chasing down where Hicks was the night of the murder. Griffon’s finished his phone calls and, along with Dana, is sitting at the table with his arms crossed. I drop into a seat with a sigh.
“The guy on the bike is Dragoniis.”
“Is that a guess?” Decker says, drilling me with his most intense glare.
“Since he’s not here to ask, of course it’s a guess,” I say. “But it’s a really good one.”
After all the standing around watching Farber’s interrogation I’m stiff, but also full of nervous energy. It’s impossible to sit still right now, so I stand and grasp the back of a chair. Leaning over, I stretch my legs out behind me, alternating between left and right.
“How do you know it’s not some guy on a bike messing with his GPS? Farber’s not exactly tech savvy. What makes you think it’s a Chinese government hacker?” Dana asks.
“It isn’t,” I say and Decker looks like he’s going to explode, so I continue quickly. “Hackers aren’t the most orderly bunch. They shift allegiances. They do jobs for governments; they don’t work for them. Not hackers of this caliber. This one has worked for China, but only when it suits him. What’s important is that he’s definitely here, and he’s here for the Unicorn.”
For the next few minutes, I explain the missing data entry in the hotel security database. Someone went into Caplan’s room, and then covered their tracks with such skill and precision, no one would ever find it. Except me, of course. That someone had to be Dragoniis. Beyond me, he’s the only player at the table with the skills to pull off that hack; and if he’d had more time, maybe even I wouldn’t have found it.
“But that could have been done from anywhere,” says Decker. “How do you know he’s actually here?”
“Because someone actually went in the room, and someone actually went to the Convention Center. It could have been Dragoniis hacking remotely with another agent on the ground. After hearing Farber now, I’m sure it wasn’t. It’s him,” I say.
“Because of the thing on his bike? The white megaphone thing?” asks Dana.
“It’s an antenna,” I say, nodding. “Dragoniis goes to Caplan’s room and is interrupted before he can find the Unicorn. But Caplan’s spooked. Now he needs to move the Unicorn. So, he takes off, and heads for the Convention Center. Dragoniis is watching and follows. But this guy has a real aversion to being on surveillance video.”
“No one’s ever captured an image of him,” explains Decker.
“And he’s not about to let that happen now,” I continue. “Not even for the Unicorn. He doesn’t have time to work a hack coming in from the web, so he’s got to go with a different play. The security office is deep inside the building. Using the antenna to boost his signal, Dragoniis can connect directly to the Wi-Fi chips in the security office computers, find an exploit in the firmware, and he’s in.”
“But why?” asks Griffon. “Everyone seems to be in and out of that place like a McDonald’s, all without being on camera. Why go to the effort?”
“He doesn’t know that,” says Dana. “The blind spot path is local knowledge. It’s one of those things that’s only ever passed on by word of mouth. He wouldn’t be able to find that online.”
“Once he’s in, he creates the loop I saw. That’s why the loop is flawed, he was in a rush,” says Decker.
“He thought the Fukushima Unicorn was just inside those walls, and couldn’t take the time for a perfect hack. Though for a rush job, it was almost perfect.”
Dragoniis has incredible technical knowledge, but the thing I admire the most is how he’s prepared to improvise. We called it “planned spontaneity” in the Valley. You provide the tools to be creative and then you just let things happen. He went to Caplan’s hotel to search it, and when things went sideways, he adapted and went with the flow.
“Did he kill Caplan?” Griffon asks.
Decker makes an expression like a kid at Christmas. If Dragoniis killed an American on U.S. soil, Decker will own him. He either works for the U.S., or he goes to prison for the rest of his life. I almost hate bursting his bubble.
“He couldn’t have,” I say. Decker casts me a dark glare. “Farber admits he heard the fight and ran out after. The gamers corroborate his story, because they heard it, too. That’s when Farber saw Dragoniis arrive, well after the fight and the murder.”
“Okay, if Farber’s out, and Dragoniis is out, then who’s left?” Dana asks, counting them off on her fingers.
“Golovchenko?” asks Griffon. “What if the newspaper guy followed them?”
“If his guys had the Unicorn, they wouldn’t have gone after the case,” I say.
“And shot two people,” adds Dana, rubbing her rib cage. “No, he definitely thought the Unicorn was in that case.”
“So maybe this Hicks guy then?” Griffon offers.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” barks Decker. “Isn’t that why you’ve got Nassar out there looking at him?”
“Same as Golovchenko. He’s still here, and the only reason he’d still be here is because he’s still looking for the Unicorn.”
According to Bradley, there are four bidders and we’ve only figured out three possibilities: the Russians, Hicks, and Dragoniis. That leaves the fourth bidder a complete mystery. Before I can remind Decker of that, he hits me with more questions.
“So, it was Dragoniis,” says Decker. “Where did he go? And where is he now?”
“After the hack, he went inside to find Caplan dead and the Unicorn gone. I don’t know where he is now, but he took one important thing with him.”
“What’s that?” Decker asks.
“Caplan’s phone,” Dana answers, snapping her fingers. “It was never recovered at the crime scene, but Caplan’s index finger was wiped clean.”
“We know he had one, because that’s how we tracked him out of the hotel.” I nod. “Either his killer took it, or Dragoniis did. My money’s on Dragoniis. The phone doesn’t have much value to the killer, but it does to him.”
“It does?” asks Griffon.
“He’d hack it, and maybe find a clue to where the Unicorn could be,” says Decker, running a hand over his head.
“And use it to get my attention,” I say, settling back into the chair.
“Come again?” says Decker.
It takes only a couple of minutes to fill everyone in on the message I got right before the shooting.
“He turned it on, used it to send a message, and then shut it down again?” asks Griffon. “If he’s spoofing, why not use his own phone, or a burner phone? Why Caplan’s?”
“Because he knew we’d be watching that number at the network level, and we’d know it was Caplan’s,” I say. “He wanted us to know the Russians weren’t running the table.”
“Why?” asks Dana.
“He’s a hacker, he’s got an ego,” I answer with a frown.
“You’re just telling me about this now?” Decker says with a hand on his forehead.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything, and I didn’t know who had it. Now I do.”
“And now it’s gone,” says Decker.
“It’s not transmitting.”
“You mean it’s off?” asks Griffon.
“Could be,” I answer. “Or Dragoniis has it in a Faraday bag.”
“A what?” asks Dana.
“Faraday bag,” says Decker, stopping his pacing to run a hand over his head. “A clear bag with fine threads of metal woven into the plastic. We used them in Afghanistan. Whenever we caught a possible terrorist actor, we put their phone into the bag right away to preserve usable intelligence. If a signal couldn’t get through, their command structure couldn’t wipe it remotely, or track our unit’s position. But we could still access the touch screen through the plastic.”
“How did he get your number?” asks Griffon. “You said he texted you. How did he get your contact info?”
“It’s on his business cards,” says Decker with a shrug. “It’s out there, and Dragoniis found it.”
“But he texted your personal phone,” says Dana, “not your Bureau phone. I noticed you have two.”
Decker’s eyebrows rise. He hadn’t noticed. If that’s bothering him, this next part is really going to bake his noodle.
“He grabbed it from close contact with me.”
“Say what?” asks Decker. His tone low and threatening. “You’ve been in contact?”
“Almost, but not quite.” I wobble my hand in front of me. “Your phone sends out signals to the carrier all the time. Walk by someone, or ride by someone, and you can pick it up.”
“Holy shit, the motorcycle,” says Dana.
“Mother fucker!” shouts Decker, jumping to his feet.
Griffon, looking alarmed, says, “Can someone fill me in?”
“When we walked to the Convention Center from the hotel yesterday, I almost got run down by a guy on a motorcycle,” I explain. “Red and white bike, just like Farber described. He definitely passed close enough to scan my phones.”
Decker kicks the trash can at the front of the room so hard, detectives outside the glass walls stand up and look over at the conference room.
“I’ve been after this guy for years,” moans Decker, putting both hands on top of his head. “And he was right there.”
“It’s not all bad news, Decker,” I say reassuringly. It’s not hard to feel sorry for him, being close to something that means so much to you. “He’s still here bidding, and he doesn’t have the Unicorn.”
My phone rings the distinctive pattern for Bradley. A voice call? There’s only one reason for voice. Something’s gone wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Bradley, you’re on speaker,” I warn him. I’ve done enough repeating today.
“Will, something just came in to Caplan’s Dark Net account,” he says. His voice is wavering. He’s upset. Even though he’s not here in the field, I know he’s feeling the pressure too. “It’s instructions on the ransom drop. They want the Fukushima Unicorn in a radioactive safe container, delivered to the main hall of the Comic Con at two o’clock today.”
“What about Amanda?” I ask.
“It says they’ll release her once they have the Unicorn. They say she’s perfectly fine but she’s scared and wants to go home.”
“Do you think they’re onto us?” asks Decker, a hand under his chin.
“No. They think they’re still talking to Caplan,” says Griffon. “It’s in the tone. They said she’s scared and wants to go home. Those words are meant for a dad. I know I’d lose my mind if that was my daughter. I’d do whatever they said. Well, until I had her back safe and sound, then I’d go after the bastards.”
“How are we going to do a drop at two o’clock?” asks Dana. “We’ve got nothing to trade.”
“Can we trace them back through the Dark Net?” Decker asks.
“Definitely not in a few hours,” I reply.
“But they figured out who Caplan is,” says Dana. “They must have. If they didn’t know who he was, how would they know to grab his daughter? Can’t we just do what they did?”
“Caplan made mistakes that allowed them to find him. He was an amateur,” I say, waving my hand back and forth, “but the people bidding on the Fukushima Unicorn won’t be.”
“What if we round up the Russians?” Decker asks. “Put the heat on all of them. At least we’d rule them out.”
“Forget the Russians,” says Griffon with a sigh. “I’m telling you it’s a dead end. Whether they took her or not, they’d never talk.”
“Who else has the muscle to do this, if not the Russians?” Decker asks.
“I can answer that,” says Bradley over the phone. “But you’re not going to like it.”
“What else is new?” Decker mutters, pushing his knuckles down on the table in frustration. That must be uncomfortable.
“I found more activity for DarkRiderX on the Dark Net. They were on a message board looking to hire freelance PMCs.”
“Oh fuck,” says Decker.
“What’s a PMC?” asks Dana.
“Private Military Contractors,” I say flopping back in my seat. “Mercenaries.”
“Who would be hiring mercenaries?” she asks.
“Not Golovchenko,” says Griffon. “He’d only trust his own men. What about Dragoniis?”
“Possibly,” says Decker. “But if he’s here for the Chinese, I would think they’d have people for him to use.”
“So, we know this bidder hired professional kidnappers, and we still don’t know who they are?” says Dana.
“Basically, yes,” says Bradley with a gulp.
“That’s just awesome.” Dana puts her head in one hand and pulls at her hair with the other.
“Then
, we fake it. Take the empty case, and draw them out,” says Decker.
Totally a good idea. It didn’t work out well the first time. But it could, with a few tweaks. Ideas start to cycle through my head.
“Leaving aside, for a second, the fact that Miller and I got shot last time,” says Dana, “what happens when they open the case? You don’t think they’ll want to check what they’re getting?”
“We fab up a convincing-looking fake. Will knows what it looks like,” says Decker.
“It’s supposed to be radioactive,” she says.
“We’ll get something radioactive from the hospital,” says Decker. “There’s got to be something we can use to set off a detector.”
“If they came into this thing prepared to drop $10 million on this deal, they’ve done their homework.” Feeling stiff again, I stand up for more stretching. “They’ll know exactly how hot a legitimate Fukushima artifact should be. We can’t fake that. Not with the time we have. If we try and we blow it, Amanda dies.”
“Stop that,” says Decker, glaring at me.
“Stop what?”
“You’re doing yoga or something.”
“It’s stretching.” I shift into a deep lunge.
“We stall,” says Griffon. “We respond and tell them we need more time.”
“For what?” asks Decker. “I say we go now. Full tactical. Take them down. Then we can have a dialogue about where they’re keeping Amanda.”
“Hold on, in a crowded convention center?” Dana asks loudly, leaning forward and putting her arms on the table. “No way. Chief Wilmont will never allow it. I won’t allow it. You’re talking about fucking mercenaries. We go tactical and fuck it up, she dies. Not to mention the risk to thousands of civilians. We don’t have any control over the circumstances.”
Despite the ruckus between Decker and Dana, details of a workable plan are coalescing in my head. But I’m missing something. I need more. “Bradley, the auction end date was supposed to be Sunday, right?”
“Yeah, Boss, according to Caplan’s private messages, Sunday at noon.”
“Who’s got a panel on Sunday?”
“You mean guests?” asks Bradley. The sound of typing comes from the phone as he pulls up the website. “Well, for one, your friend Jerry Oldham.”