by Drew Murray
“I’m a fan. I wouldn’t say he’s my friend.”
“Haven’t checked your Twitter feed lately, have you, Boss?”
“Been busy, Bradley.”
Jerry Oldham is an actor on The Double Limit, my favorite show about a time-traveling detective. Pulling out my phone now, I open Twitter.
“It seems Jerry’s a fan of you too, Boss,” continues Bradley. “He tagged you in a picture at the Comic Con.”
I see it now on my feed.
Just rolled into #ComicCFRS and saw @Truewillparker! #awesome #techceo
The image shows me walking through the Con. He caught me just as I was going back into the vendor hall. Dana’s behind me, but blurry. It must have been last night when we went back for the Wasteout 3 kids.
The vague idea rolling around in my head snaps into sharp focus. So far, the kidnappers are calling the shots, tilting the field in their favor. If my idea works out, it would make us even again.
“What time’s his panel on Sunday?” I ask.
“One o’clock,” says Bradley.
“Like Griffon said, we delay. We tell the kidnappers the Unicorn is out of town and our associate is bringing it in on Sunday. The earliest we can do is tomorrow morning, right at the opening of the Con. Then we set a trap.”
“At the Con? I’m telling you, Wilmont will never go for that,” says Dana.
“Once he hears my plan, he will.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A couple of hours later, the conference room is devoid of sound and full of tension. The initial thrill of having a plan is gone. We’re in the midst of the repetitive planning process, Decker walking us through it over and over until we’ve memorized every detail. Feeling like we’re starting to drive events, rather than just react to them, makes it bearable. The plan doesn’t solve everything, but buys us time.
The response is almost ready to go back. The kidnappers need to believe their best chance of getting the Unicorn is following through with Caplan and making the meet first thing in the morning. We’ve carefully crafted every word to sound as much like Caplan as we can, based on his previous messages. Desperate, but not so much so that he’s unstable. They need to believe “Caplan” can deliver.
“It’s done,” says Bradley, coming back on the line. “We’ve got all the pieces. The Unicorn will be here Sunday morning as scheduled. Meeting at the Comic Con is fine. Please don’t hurt Amanda. Details of the exchange when the show opens at eight. Once more, please don’t hurt Amanda.”
Seeing nods from everyone around the table, I tell Bradley to hit SEND.
“Done, Boss.”
There’s no turning back now. Whichever bidder kidnapped Amanda Caplan is going to arrive at the Comic Con tomorrow at eight in the morning, whether we’re ready or not.
I’m spared yet another walkthrough with Decker when Nassar returns with information on Hicks.
“He was highly visible at the hotel. All night,” she says, opening the notes on her phone. “He had a team-builder with Pyntel staff in the hotel restaurant, then turned to the bar to keep the party going on his own, when the rest of the team left. Darryl Parr, the bartender, remembers him clearly.”
“He just sat there? Alone?” asks Decker.
“Oh no. Not at all,” snickers Nassar. “Which is why Darryl remembered him. He had female company. Took some persuading, but eventually Darryl admitted that he knew her. Top-dollar escort. Frequently seen in the hotels. Anyway, he says they were there until closing.”
“Then what?” asks Decker.
“What do you think?” I ask Decker, making a gesture with my fingers. “On to the main event.”
It takes Decker a second but his eyes widen and he shakes his head. “We’ll need to confirm when she left.”
“Already did,” says Nassar. “I got her on the phone.”
“Awesome,” Griffon chuckles.
“How did you manage that?” I ask. “Normally escorts don’t answer anonymous numbers, and all Bureau phones are blocked.”
“Simple,” says Nassar. “I borrowed Darryl’s phone, and she answered right away.”
“Well played,” says Dana. “If she’s working the hotels, she’s got to have the bartenders onboard. They probably get referral fees. Either way, it takes this Hicks out of the equation.”
“Did you keep her number? Can I have it?” I ask.
Decker rolls his eyes at me.
“For the investigation,” I add, rolling my eyes in return as Nassar sends the number.
Nassar goes on to tell us by the time she finished interviewing Darryl, Griffon had the sneak and peak warrant back. Hotel security let her into Hicks’ room, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. All she found was a normal hotel suite filled with the normal stuff of a business traveler. Definitely no Fukushima Unicorn, and no young woman bound to a chair.
We’ll never find Amanda this way. If DarkRiderX managed to contract a private military company, they’re already at arm’s length from people that know how to cover their tracks. The only hard clue to work with is the ransom picture. I’ve cashed in two mighty big chips with Rick and Kumar chasing down that lead, but if it leads us to Amanda Caplan in time, it’ll be worth it. Once we’ve saved her life, we can focus on the rest.
Like the guy who bludgeoned Roger Caplan to death, currently still on the loose. Or capturing Dragoniis, so Decker can turn him. And last, but not least, there’s finding the Fukushima Unicorn while not letting it fall into government hands.
When we break to eat, I feel an overwhelming desire to get out of the room. I keep going right out of the building to the hot, but fresh, air outside. Grudgingly admitting to myself that I’m hungry, I stop at a convenience store down the street. There, I find another energy drink and a pair of Clif Bars to solve the problem. I’m just tapping my watch to the pay terminal when Dana walks in the door.
“I had a hunch I’d find you here,” she says.
“I can’t drink another cup of what you guys call coffee,” I say, attempting a smile.
“So instead of our watered-down java you come here for a tall boy of heart-attack-in-a-can? Sounds reasonable,” she says dryly. “I’ll join you.”
She picks out a can of energy drink and a Clif Bar. With no hesitation picking her flavors, she’s clearly no stranger to either product.
Leaving the store, she leads me down the street to a small plaza with a fountain. It’s a quiet, pleasant place between office buildings. Benches sheltered from the glare of the sun underneath the trees planted throughout the space. Dana picks an empty one.
“I’m a little concerned,” she says, peeling the wrapper of her Clif Bar. Chocolate Chip. “The plan seems to have some holes in it.”
“Such as?”
“What if we don’t find Amanda first?”
“We will,” I say, tearing open my own bar. Peanut Butter.
“Assume we don’t. What happens then?”
Hidden behind her reflective aviators, her expression is hard to read. I hold my gaze level with my reflection in her lenses. “Then we have to make the trade.”
“For the Fukushima Unicorn.”
“Right.”
“Which we don’t have. You see where I’m going here.”
“I do,” I say before taking a bite of the bar and looking away at the fountain. It seems to be nothing but offices around here, but there’s a long parade of children being led through the plaza and around the water. They’re tethered together with a bright green, curly plastic cord. Protected.
“This doesn’t concern you?”
“Of course it concerns me.”
“Then what do we do about it?”
“Before the exchange goes down, we find Amanda or we find the Fukushima Unicorn.”
“Right,” she says, tucking a strand of hair that’s come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. “And if it’s the Unicorn we find, you’d be willing to turn it over?”
When I don’t answer, she continues. “If we can
’t produce the Unicorn, they’re not going to just let her go. She’s the only person who can identify them.”
“I know.”
“Will, they’re going to kill her.”
My phone buzzes. Standard message pattern.
Rick W: Data ready.
Me: Super. Can you send?
Rick W: I can send a link.
Rick W: Warrant?
Me: Just a sec.
My fingers tremble as I dial Griffon’s mobile. There’s no time to wait for him to read a text and peck out a response. Talking will be faster. It can’t happen soon enough.
“Need that warrant,” I say when Griffon answers.
“It just came through,” he says. “I’ll send you the electronic copy.”
Dana sits silently watching me and finishing her Clif Bar, exercising that miraculous patience. I have none. Every nerve is raw. One of the children tethered to the green cord squeals in delight. I jump, my hand shakes, and I almost drop my phone.
When Griffon’s message comes in, the phone’s barely stopped vibrating when I copy the attachment and send it to Rick.
Me: Warrant attached.
Me: attached file
I start counting seconds. I get to a hundred. Is he actually reading it? What’s taking so long? When I can’t stand it anymore, I text him again.
Me: We good? I can send someone to serve in person if you need it.
Rick W: What, paper? No. Just looking it over.
Me: You don’t trust me?
Rick W: Really?
Me: Fine. Never mind.
Me: Done reading yet?
Rick W: link attached
Jabbing my finger at the link opens a spreadsheet with the data I requested. A list of IP addresses in the city that hit Google’s main search page, using a Firefox browser, on a Mac, during the minute the ransom photo was taken. It’s exactly what I asked for. But that’s where the good news ends.
“We get anything?” asks Dana.
“A lot,” I say, forwarding the link to Bradley. “Too much.”
“How much is too much?” Dana asks, crumpling the empty energy drink can in her hand.
Looking up to see her staring at me, the excitement I felt moments ago when I heard from Rick is already souring into bitter disappointment. I’d hoped the list would be short enough to work without cross-referencing against Kumar’s data.
“About a hundred possible locations.” My stomach clenches around that Clif Bar.
“There’s no way we can hit that many by morning. Not safely,” Dana says. “We could canvass that many addresses, but if someone just shows up at the door with a badge, she’s as good as dead. We don’t have the resources to even watch that many locations.”
“That’s why we have to narrow the list.”
“And how do we do that?”
Already, I’ve wrestled my initial disappointment into submission. Did I really think we’d land it on the first data set? If we had, I could have kept Kumar out of it, but Rick’s list is just too long. When Dana crosses her arms, I sense her commitment to my plan slipping away. She needs to know the rest.
Finishing the last of my energy drink, I crush the can just as she did.
“Simple,” I say. “Porn.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Me: Need a favor.
Kumar P: What’s up?
Me: Looking for someone.
Kumar P: Try Tinder?
Me: Kink.
Kumar P: Ah, gotcha! You’ve come to the right place. :-) :-) :-)
Me: Got time, location, IPs. Cross-reference?
Kumar P: We don’t sell user info. :-(
Me: You collect it though.
My phone rings in my hand. It’s Kumar.
“I’m not putting that in writing. Are you crazy, bro?”
Kumar Patel is a pornographer. He’s got the number one fetish site in the U.S., producing their own content as well as collecting it from around the web. A few years back, he landed in the news for the URL of one of his websites. It was “kpop-” something or other, similar to a site for Korean Pop music and videos, popular with teenagers. Though Kumar insisted the “k” stood for kink, and agreed to change the name of the site, it wasn’t until after he’d made news around the world, getting the kind of advertising that money can’t buy.
I first met him years ago at this outrageous party in the Valley. The hosts had assembled giant tents next to their mansion, all lined with rich carpets and fabrics like the sultans of old. They’d hired gorgeous young models, male and female, to walk around in genie costumes serving food. Kumar supplied the models.
“Crazy?” I laugh. “For thinking you track your clients’ online behavior? Everybody tracks everybody online. That’s why the internet is free, Kumar. If you don’t pay for the product, you are the product.”
“Yeah, but people don’t think about that. You got to keep the illusion alive, man. People like to think they’re private in their pastime.” Sarcasm seeps into his words like rain through an open sunroof.
“Sure, especially your clients.”
“Not everyone is ready to come clean about their kink, and I don’t judge,” says Kumar. “I mean, you should see some of the shit going on these days.”
“Still a lot of bondage traffic?”
“The classics,” Kumar says, “they never go out of style.”
“I’ve got a ball-gag—”
“Good for you, you little subbie,” Kumar interrupts. “Black and chrome, or did you go with a splash of color?”
“Not me.”
“Oh right, for a friend, I get you,” says Kumar. “I’m winking right now.”
“It’s for a case. Someone’s in danger.”
“Sorry, Will, tell me what you need.” Kumar’s demeanor changes immediately. He’s a businessman at heart, not a pervert, and if the FBI’s calling about someone in danger with a connection to kink, then it could be bad for business. Plus, he’s not a bad guy. He’s diligent about weeding out anything on his site that may be the product of human trafficking or exploitation. He’s cleanly dirty.
Running down the situation with Amanda Caplan, I leave out anything to do with the Fukushima Unicorn, or my conversation with Rick Downie at Google. I describe the enhanced image in detail, including the ball-gag and bondage cuffs used to restrain Amanda. The photos are clear enough to tell they’re quality items, not novelties. Which means they belong to someone. Someone with a fetish. Someone who’s likely visited Kumar’s site.
“Jesus, man, that’s awful,” says Kumar. “You know that’s not what BDSM play is about, right? It’s consensual. Kidnapping, coercion, that’s not part of it. When this goes public, there’ll be a backlash against the industry.”
“Help me out, and I’ll do what I can to leave those details out of the public eye,” I assure him.
It only takes me a couple of minutes to explain what I need. Being able to cross-reference what I get from Kumar with what Rick provided me should tell me where Amanda Caplan is being held, or at least narrow it down.
“Sure, of course, Will, you got it.”
“Thanks, Kumar. If this works, you’ll literally be a lifesaver.”
“My momma would be so proud,” he says with a melodramatic sniff. “Just one more thing.”
Dammit. Not this again.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“We should think about how you come by this information.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t kidding about our clients. They don’t want to think that Papa FBI’s looking through our records. People should be able to engage in their fantasies without worrying that the Feds are watching. It’s healthy.”
Healthy for Kumar’s bottom line anyway. But he does have a point.
“I take it you have a suggestion?”
“I’ve got a guy who’s leaving the team. He’s a good guy, but he’s moving across the country with his fiancée. Anyone asks, we say a former employee released it by accident.
And we don’t say what kind of data.”
“Until it goes to court. This is evidence. Someone may have to testify.”
“By the time that happens, we can say we’ve ‘changed our practices’ around data collection.”
“I see where you’re going.” I nod. “We can do that.”
The sound of a woman moaning in the background reaches the phone.
“A little early, isn’t it?” I ask, looking at the time on my watch.
“This is Vegas, baby. Never too early in Vegas,” says Kumar.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“What are you smiling about?” Decker demands when we walk back into the conference room.
Griffon and Nassar are still huddled with him around the conference table. The remains of cafeteria sandwiches and salads are scattered among the laptops and papers. A map of the Convention Center hangs from the whiteboard. Griffon’s tie is loosened and Nassar’s blazer is tossed over the back of her chair, but Decker’s still as buttoned up as ever, jacket and tie firmly in place.
“He’s got a porn plan,” says Dana. “It’s actually pretty good.”
Griffon coughs on part of a mouthful of sandwich. Nassar puts down a plastic fork, her eyes wide with the ghost of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
“Not you too,” Decker says to Dana, frowning and shaking his head in dismay. “You’re starting to sound like him. You don’t make any sense. What the fuck is a porn plan?”
“He told me about it on the way back,” she says. “It’s all about the ransom image.”
“The ball-gag?” asks Griffon.
“The ball what?” says Decker, dropping his fists on the table. “Would someone around here please start speaking English?”
“In the photo, Amanda has a ball-gag in her mouth to keep her from making any noise,” says Dana. “Clean, safe, and effective. No chemicals or fibers to cause coughing or choking.”
“How do you know that?” says Decker.
“That’s what they’re designed for,” says Nassar, as if explaining why water is wet. “A common item for sexual domination sessions. But why is it important, Will? You think we’ll be able to track the purchase?”