“Depends on what you consider wasteful.” A soft chuckle. “I’m more of an acquired taste…if you lower your standards.”
It took her a moment to place the voice, but when she did, she had to grin.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Where have you been, Harper? I’ve been…looking for you.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I figured with Baker on my ass and knowing where I lived, it was a good time to lay low. I ditched my old phone number too.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
A part of her wanted to hit him with all the questions floating in her brain about his nonexistent background. And one day she would have that conversation, but more urgent needs took priority. The point was, he’d reached out to her, and if he had planned to disappear, he wouldn’t have called.
“Have you seen the news?” she asked.
“Yeah, barely. It took me most of the night to hustle out of my digs and find a new location, so I slept in. I didn’t see what happened until a little while ago. You probably thought I bailed on you.”
“Not me. I had complete faith.”
“Liar.”
She heard the amusement in his voice.
“Hey. I thought you should know,” she added. “The news coverage wouldn’t have mentioned this, but the laptop is missing. According to Sam, the cops never found it at the scene. It might have been stolen.”
“What?” he said. “That’s not possible.”
Jess grinned. “I never took you for gullible, Harper. Why would you find it so difficult to believe someone stole it? Granted, taking it off a dead guy is a little cold, but—”
“Jess, that’s one of the reasons I called you. I didn’t expect the laptop to be running this morning after Baker kicked it, but someone has been poking around. And they sure don’t need a road map.”
“What are you saying?”
“By the keystrokes, I could swear Baker is still alive. Whoever has his computer really knows what they’re doing. You and I need to talk.”
In the darkened room, Ethan O’Connell kept his eyes on the bank of computer monitors in front of him as he sipped coffee, freshly brewed from the kitchen. Dim lighting made the screens easier to see. He sat alone at the control center, an elevated workstation that overlooked his handpicked staff, charged with local system maintenance and data entry for Globe Harvest. The business end of the U.S. domestic operation was situated belowground in an abandoned textile manufacturing plant.
On-screen, data updated in real time, a living, breathing online entity with international connections. Behind the facade of a Web site under construction lay a vast encrypted network accessible only through proper security authorizations. Part of the system was dedicated to tracking the influx of “assets” into the existing inventory, while other aspects focused on the more complex side of the business—the disposition of inventory by myriad disposal options. The extensive on-screen display of numbers was nothing more than supply and demand in action on a grand scale.
They bartered in human lives, and everything had a price.
“Bidding starts in twenty minutes, sir.” A man’s voice came from below.
“Thank you,” he replied, catching a glimpse of his watch.
Bidders on an encrypted system were ready to transact after reviewing a comprehensive profile on each asset that included a current medical record. A fully automated system. The sex trade, and other more inventive endeavors, had turned high tech, protected by the obstacle of multijurisdictional borders and the anonymity of cyberspace. And with the organization compartmentalized, he had no idea how the computer system actually ran or who might be responsible for facets of the business. Anonymity had its advantages, both ways.
“Are the recent acquisitions included?” he asked. “Those medically certified, that is.”
“Yes, sir.” Another voice came from across the room. “We’re set.”
Acquisitions underwent a screening process, with recruited Internet operatives looking for the young, inexperienced, and disassociated kids who met a specific profile and wouldn’t be missed until they were in “the system.”
Enticed by exciting opportunities and money, kids with low self-esteem or a faltering relationship with their parents made for easy picking. To them, money could represent a powerful solution to their problems. And there was adventure and big money to be made during the summer at Alaskan fish canneries. Or perhaps the promise of marriage to a rich American or an international modeling job with free room and board, and pay in tax-free dollars, would be enough of a lure. The promises didn’t matter.
Once a kid became a part of the Globe Harvest system, they’d be moved again and again until all evidence of their true location was covered up without a trace. Cops had a hard time tracking kids across a multijurisdictional landscape, especially when each case appeared random and without similarity—just another runaway kid for the auction block.
“And I understand we have two new bidders. Are they operational and online?” he prompted his staff.
Markets were given unique numbers and set up elsewhere to maintain their anonymity. Once orders came through and property was awarded, he would only know certain aspects of the shipping destinations, nothing more. And if an intermediary for shipment was utilized—which many markets took advantage of—he knew even less about the final disposition of the asset.
“We have confirmation they are certified for online access. And the two new bidders are in queue, but only one is currently online.”
“Give me an update when that second bidder joins the party,” he said.
“Will do, sir.”
Once the online auction started, things would go quickly and the outcome for each asset would be determined within minutes. Handlers would be assigned and transactions executed with money wired instantaneously. All transactions took place in an automated clearinghouse, with orders filled by the end of the day. On today’s online global forums, anything could be bought. And Globe Harvest had taken this theory to a whole new level.
Business, pure and simple—
Ethan went to the screen posting the latest profiles. Whenever he did this, the rest of the control room melted away to nothing. Explicit photos were always a major turn-on—one of the perks of the job. He found himself getting aroused. His cock strained against his pants. On occasion he got to sample the goods as a bonus—the incentive that had lured him to the organization in the first place.
Globe Harvest fed his addiction.
“You are nothing but fox in charge of chickens, yes?”
Ethan jumped at the sound of Stanislav Petrovin’s voice coming out of the darkness. When he looked over his shoulder, the long-haired Russian stood over him, gazing down at the photos on the computer monitor.
“A fox in charge of the hen house, Stas,” he corrected. “But this fox knows better than to sample the goods, unless he has permission.”
He didn’t like the way the Russian always appeared from thin air and without making a sound.
“If this is true, you are stronger man than I,” Petrovin said.
The Russian grabbed control of a screen and looked through photos of the new additions. He muttered in his native tongue anytime he found a profile that he liked, but after a look at the man’s face, Ethan didn’t need a translation.
He knew Petrovin didn’t always abide by the rules when it came to the handling of assets. What the Russian wanted, he took without permission, leaving him to clean up the damage. He suspected Stas had been granted sanction from a higher authority, but he was too afraid to challenge the man. One look in the dead eyes of the Russian gave Stas all the authority he’d need, as far as Ethan was concerned.
Leaning over the console, Petrovin scrolled through the photos and kept his eyes on the screen as he talked.
“Lucas Baker is no longer problem. His laptop…it is in our hands.”
“Yes, I heard you brought the computer back. It wasn’t hard to imagine what happened to Baker. The bag had blood on it.” Ethan slouched in his chair and swiveled. “My people are going over it now, to see if it’s been tampered with.”
