Terrorbyte (23 page)

Our hacker had been busy. Some of the time she had mixed with the kids, chatting and offering advice. It was sensible and well thought out. From the things she'd said I gathered she hadn't caused any harm to the kids. Some of what she told them may have helped. I scrolled down, reading pages and pages of chatty advice and teenage small talk. About five pages in, I found code: a lump of computer code just sitting there in the middle of a conversation. Odd.

“Mac, what does this do?” I pointed the code out.

“Copy it to a doc file, I'll check and see when you're done.”

I did as he suggested and carried on reading. A few more pages of chitchat, then a new person arrived in the conversation, someone called Firebug. So far, I knew the woman Selena never used the instant message function within the chat room; good to know because only Mac and I are supposed to be able to initiate instant message conversations within the room. She'd chatted to several people at once. The Firebug person rarely spoke but always replied to Selena.

I started paying careful attention to every word they'd said to each other. There was absolutely nothing that seemed out of place in the conversations. I kept reading. Four pages later, I came across unusual activity: Selena had copied and pasted a block of conversation from the chat room window into a word document, highlighted the entire area, changed the font and the color. She'd then highlighted parts of the conversation. A message appeared. And there we had it, proof that she'd spoken with the Unsub in the room, or at least with the killer Praskovya believed she was hunting.

I summarized for my team, “He's in Northern Virginia and in no hurry to leave. She told him to stop. He replied that he was having too much fun. She told him of Markov. He said he didn't care: no one would catch him. She warned him his actions were open to viewing and someone was displeased with his behavior.”

“Viewing?” Lee questioned.

“Looks as though she's warning him about a superior, perhaps someone senior to him in the cell. Could be a double warning – she could be trying to tell him we're getting closer.” I certainly didn't feel we were any closer.

“Any mention of where his next victim is, or where Selena is?” Lee asked. “By the way, what is his screen name?”

“Firebug.”

“You are fuc'n joking!”

All eyes were now on the chat room screen scanning the room list for Firebug. SadlySandy popped in. You could hear everyone inhale at the same time.

I looked at Mac; he frowned at the screen. “Mac?”

“It's not the kid. We made her a brand new log-in, screen name and profile; one of the moderators spoke to her and her parents.”

“So this is?”

“Not the kid,” he replied.

Praskovya moved to sit next to Lee. He watched the conversation.

“It's her,” he said.

Mac already had a trace program running. “We'll have a location soon.”

Praskovya's fingers tapped on the arm of the sofa. Lee kept on chatting to the kids and Selena. My jacket pocket buzzed then rang. I read the screen – Urgent. Something about the ring tone suggested bad news. I decided I'd best answer it. “I'm taking this outside,” I announced and walked out the door with the phone pressed to my ear.

“Conway, it's McNab.”

“And?” I guessed he had some information for me.

“Can we meet?”

“How much will it cost me this time?”

“Fifty … heard something about those gold ribbon cases.”

“Where?”

“Meet me at Tulley Gate in an hour.”

I hung up and went back to my desk.

A chat window popped up on my computer screen. There was Mac sending a smiley face.

Praskovya asked, “Have you located her yet?”

Mac shook his head. He sent an instant message to my computer.

Mac Connelly:
Get the feeling we're working for him?

Me:
Yes. I am less than impressed.

Mac Connelly:
I have the location. It's coming from Fort Belvoir.

Me:
Interesting place of historic value; maybe we should visit it soon.

More interesting than Mac realized: Tulley Gate is at Fort Belvoir.

Mac Connelly:
Field trip?

Me:
How accurate is that signal?

Mac Connelly:
She could have thrown us like last time; maybe not Belvoir at all, won't know until we get there.

Me:
Say nothing. At this point Praskovya could destroy our investigation by taking her too soon.

Mac Connelly:
Belvoir isn't a small area. We need to narrow it somewhat. I'll get a van out there to do moving signal detection.

Me:
Good thinking, dude. Keep it quiet, if she's on the move this could be a waste of time.

The only thing about being the Supervising Agent I didn't like was the thought of having to account for every cent spent once the case reached its conclusion. Waste of time equals waste of money equals Ellie's head on a platter.

Mac Connelly:
Would be a good place to hole up.

“You two are quiet over there,” Lee commented. His harried face looked up from the computer. An inkling flashed in his eyes. I knew he couldn't use an instant message with Praskovya watching.

“Just going over some data,” I replied. “This reminds me of something.”

Lee's interest was piqued. “Do tell, Chicky.”

“It's almost as if we're playing hide and go seek.” I made eye contact with Lee briefly, “When Aidan and I were young we used to play hide and go seek out at Fort Belvoir.”

A fleeting smile. “Some good hiding places out there.”

Praskovya interrupted, “Who is Aidan?”

“My brother,” I replied.

“Is there a location?” His tone was curt.

I heard Mac sigh under his breath as he said, “She's re-routed this signal so many times my computer is dizzy. Northern Virginia.”

“You have nothing?” He failed to hide his annoyance. I sensed his anger fizzing to the surface, or maybe I saw his jaw clench; whatever, he was angry.

“She could be down the hall, or in the office next door. It's not always straightforward.”

I loved Mac with all my heart. The ease with which he lied to Praskovya and the convincing performance was pure poetry. How were we going to get away? We could go one by one and meet downstairs. Or I could just go and meet McNab and do a little recon while I was about it. I dug into the case and wrestled alligators to try to find something that would allow me to disappear without suspicion.

I sent an instant message to Caine.

Me:
Cover for me. There's something I need to check without FSB in tow. An informant of mine has something to tell me.

Caine Grafton:
Related?

I crossed the fingers on my left hand while I typed.

Me
: Only to our case.

Caine Grafton:
Uncross your fingers, Ellie.

How did he know?

Me:
Not crossed

Caine Grafton:
I'll alibi you for three hours. You're with me.

Me:
Thanks

Caine Grafton:
If this goes horribly wrong, kid, I'm not going to be happy.

I closed the instant message window. If this goes horribly wrong none of us were going to be happy. Moreover, I was about to lie to Mac.

“Caine wants to see me.” There it was, the lie, free for everyone to hear, but worst of all, for Mac to hear. No one had time to comment on my escape route before my phone buzzed insistently. I read the message twice: it still made no sense and caused my over-taxed brain to attempt a meltdown. I needed to talk to my team minus the Russian factor.

“Praskovya, can you do something for me?” I flicked through messages on my phone trying to make the request seem important as I asked, “I need someone to fetch some notes for me; head to the forensics lab on the fifth floor.”

“It's necessary?”

“Very. We may have a lead.”

Long ago I stopped feeling frightened by the ease with which I could lie while working. It was par for the course, unless I had to lie to Mac. That was different.

“I will go if it is important. You are all busy and I am the third wheel.”

Praskovya left. As soon as he was out of earshot, I told Lee and Mac what the message said: “Selena Vadbolski is a double agent working with the US military.”

“That is the single dumbest thing I have heard this week,” Mac said.

“You and me both, Mac.” Lee had stopped typing at my announcement.

It was good that we three agreed on the height of the absurdity. We heard humongous amounts of stupidity some days.

“Definitely Tuesday, more whackos about on Tuesday,” Mac said, with his best Dustin Hoffman impersonation.

“Chill, Rain Man,” I replied.

Lee roared with laughter. “So it's true, Mac is special.”

“I think idiot savant is the term you're reaching for.” I kissed Mac on the forehead as I moved past him, intent on escape.

He grabbed my hand and said, “Definitely a smartass.”

“Only on Tuesdays.”

Lee spoke. “Focus.”

“Can't focus on dumb: it makes my brain ache,” I told him from one step closer to the door.

“Mine too, but under this pile of stupid, there has to be something usable.”

My brain swirled the remarks around and out popped: not much. “Praskovya said she goes where she's comfortable. Defense Department was comfortable apparently, which may hold true for Belvoir too,
but
…”

“Don't choke on that ‘but',” Mac quipped.

I ignored his comment. “That doesn't mean she's working for our military! That seems like one hell of a stretch to me.”

Mac feigned astonishment, “I am stunned. I have known you to create an entire history for someone based on a strand of hair and a piece of gum … and you think this is a stretch?”

I glared. It was half-hearted at best and sadly, he wasn't wrong.

“There's more; I have mail from someone called Sassy underscore Selena, this person was communicating on a regular basis with the first Richmond victim.”

“You think it's the same Selena?” Mac asked.

“I think it's one hell of a coincidence if it isn't.”

“Anything in the exchanges point to any involvement in the cases?” Mac asked.

“Not a damn thing,” I replied. I knew I still had a few to read but I had waded through the majority and they contained nothing more exciting than a recipe for homemade play dough. Had it been plastic explosive I'd have been interested.

Lee added, “We have no evidence to suggest she's working for anyone, not even this terror cell.”

I kicked myself back on track. “True enough … as I said, this is one hell of a stretch.”

“And this random statement came from where exactly?”

“I sent a query on both passports. Vadbolski's came back flagged ‘Military: Top Secret'.”

“Goody,” Mac grumbled. “More shit.”

“I think we hit knee depth some time ago; best put our waders on, it's just going to get deeper.”

I considered the information and its source. I was building a Mossad life story for them both and, after viewing their passports at the crash site, had them chasing a terror cell. So was it really that big a stretch? I'd built that little fantasy because they both used passports from safe countries. Now our military was involved.

I pulled myself up before the word conspiracy popped from my mouth and caused ripples in our already murky pond.

“I've got that meeting with Caine.” There was the lie again. I kissed Mac. “I'll be back when we're done.” And left without making eye contact; I knew he'd see through the ruse if I did.

I didn't really have a reason for wanting to go alone, except that it was easier for me to slip out than for all of us to disappear. It was fact finding, nothing too difficult in that. I'd meet McNab then go for a wee foray; all I intended to do was observe. If I kept telling myself this was routine and there was no need to go charging in with the cavalry – it might be true.

I was as okay as I was going to be with this. What were the odds of me going out to Belvoir to meet an informant and the signal coming from there, too? Don't think about it.

As I drove I flicked on the radio, the first song I heard was ‘Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress.' I switched off the radio and tried to dispel the feelings of unease generated by the song.

Why would anyone be following me? I checked the rearview mirror for the tenth time in three minutes. Two cars back I saw the same silver car I'd seen twenty minutes earlier. It had dropped into the flow of traffic two cars behind me as I left Washington. I smiled to myself – this case is causing paranoia – just because the same car has been behind me for twenty minutes doesn't mean it's following me.

Yeah, right.

I saw a gas station sign ahead and decided to pull in there. Maybe the car would keep going, so I could get the plate number, or maybe it would pull in and I could take a look at the driver. Deciding there was no harm in either option, I pulled in.

I cruised slowly past the pumps and stopped on the far side of the forecourt. The other car didn't stop. It carried on but slowed, and I wrote down the numbers.

As I called the tag in, a dark blue car pulled in behind me. Simultaneously, the silver car returned, this time approaching me face-on and turned into the gas station. The single male occupant smiled. I estimated his age to be forty, forty-five. He had short dark hair with a sprinkling of gray, tanned skin – possibly spent a lot of time outdoors – green eyes, a long nose and a generous mouth. In my rearview mirror, I saw the occupant of the dark blue car, also male, wearing a baseball cap pulled down low over his forehead. I couldn't see his eyes and his face was in shadow. No hair showed from around the cap, indicating it was very short or non-existent.