Being in Mystic’s database of regular contacts at that point was definitely something of a risk. Danielle had been highly cognizant of that risk each time before when she had asked for help.
When her borrowed computer was logged onto the Internet, she accessed Mystic’s mail drop. She typed out a message using the unflattering Muckraker ID he had provided her.
Muckraker:>HEY. ARE YOU AROUND?
Mystic:>I’M ALWAYS AROUND. LONG TIME, NO HEAR.
Danielle knew Mystic would be sniffing around the entire connection, making certain there were no viruses or traps attached to them.
She typed:>BEEN BUSY. YOU?
Mystic:>EXPLORING THE BLUE NOWHERE.
The blue nowhere was cyberspace, named that by a number of hackers.
Muckraker:>FIND ANYTHING INTERESTING?
Mystic:>LOL. LOTS. WANT ME TO CHECK INTO ANYTHING ELSE INTERESTING?
Danielle decided to go with a semi-flirtatious response:>CAN’T A GIRL JUST CHECK IN TO SAY HI?
Mystic:>SURE. BUT YOU’RE NOT THAT GIRL. YOU’RE ALL BUSINESS, DANIELLE. NO FUN. BEEN WATCHING YOU ON TV.
Danielle felt slow-witted. Mystic was a resource she’d left untapped during her investigation into the worldwide vanishings. Dodging bullets and advancing Syrian tanks will do that to you, she told herself.
She typed:>DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE DISAPPEARANCES?
The cursor blinked for a short time. It was an uncomfortable silence, and for a moment Danielle thought she had lost the connection or offended the hacker in some way.
Mystic:>NO.
That was the answer. Just a simple no. But it spoke volumes.
Muckraker:>I THOUGHT SOMEONE LIKE YOU WOULD BE INTERESTED IN A GLOBAL PHENOMENON.
Mystic:>I AM. JUST NOTHING OUT THERE TO FIND. LOTS OF CONJECTURE, SUPPOSITION, AND HORSE POOP.
Muckraker:>I’M GETTING THE SAME THING AT THIS END.
Mystic:>WAS THAT WHAT YOU E-MAILED ME ABOUT?
Me, not us. Danielle filed that away. Using I might have been a reflexive use, but me in the context it was used might be more subjective.
Muckraker:>I WANT A BACKGROUND CHECK DONE.
Mystic’s response was immediate, the letters taking shape with staccato regularity:>MUNDANE. NOT INTERESTED. YOU CAN DO YOUR OWN SCUT WORK.
Danielle couldn’t believe the response. She’d thought asking the favor was a slam dunk because Mystic liked flirting with her.
Muckraker:>IS THAT ANY WAY TO TREAT A GIRL?
Mystic:>BLUE NOWHERE’S A BIG PLACE. LOTS OF PLACES TO PLAY. DON’T WANNA LOSE ANY TIME.
Danielle thought quickly, seeking any leverage she might have.
Mystic didn’t owe her any favors. In the past she’d felt like an oddity for whoever was at the other end of the computer link, a passing interest.
Then she typed:>THIS GIG COMES WITH A BODY COUNT. PROBABLY NOT SAFE ANYWAY. TTFN.
TTFN stood for ta-ta-for-now, a cute sign-off a lot of Internet cruisers used. She waited, feeling crass at how she was using Lizuca’s death as bait.
A moment later, symbols appeared on the screen from Mystic:>???
Muckraker:>I HAD A FRIEND CHECK ON THE PICTURE I WANT TO SEND YOU. SHE WAS KILLED ABOUT AN HOUR AGO IN A CYBERCAFÉ IN BUCHAREST.
Mystic:>WHO KILLED HER?
Muckraker:>I DON’T KNOW.
Mystic:>YOU’RE HOLDING OUT ON ME. I CAN TELL.
Okay, you’ve got her or him or them interested. Time to set the hook.
Danielle typed:>THERE’S A CIA CONNECTION. THAT’S WHAT I NEED YOU TO LOOK INTO.
Mystic:>GOTTA LOVE THE SPY GUYS. IT’S GREAT TO BUST THEIR CHOPS. THEY GOOD GUYS OR BAD GUYS?
Danielle knew that there existed a certain moral ambiguity among hackers, but they held true to their own codes. And most of them championed underdogs.
Muckraker:>SHE WAS A FRIEND OF MINE. SHE WAS A GOOD PERSON.
Mystic:>ERGO, THEY ARE THE BAD GUYS BY DEFAULT.
Muckraker:>I THINK IT’S MORE THAN JUST BY DEFAULT.
Mystic:>YOU SAID YOU HAD A PICTURE?
Muckraker:>YES.
Mystic:>SEND IT. I’LL FIND YOUR GUY.
Danielle hesitated before typing:>I THINK ONEWORLD NEWSNET HAS INFORMATION ON THE GUY.
Mystic:>WHAT MAKES YOU SAY THAT?
Muckraker:>MY FRIEND WORKED FOR THEM.
The cursor blinked for a time. Mystic:>OKAY. I’LL POKE AROUND THERE.
Muckraker:>BE CAREFUL.
There was a brief lag in the response.
Mystic:>YOU TOO. I GET BUSTED, WHICH I TRULY CAN’T SEE HAPPENING BECAUSE I AM THAT GOOD, THEY’RE GONNA START LOOKING AROUND. EVEN IF THEY DETECT ME, THEY CAN’T FIND ME. BUT YOUR HEAD WILL BE THE FIRST ONE ON THE CHOPPING BLOCK. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO GET OUT.
Danielle thought about that, but she couldn’t back away. Not until she confirmed that Lizuca’s death was connected to the CIA man’s picture.
Muckraker:>NO. I’M IN.
Mystic:>GOTTA SAY I’M A LITTLE CONCERNED FOR YOU, BUT I’M GLAD YOU’RE STICKING. YOU’VE MADE ME CURIOUS AND FEEL CHALLENGED. SEND ME THE PIC. I’LL LET YOU KNOW.
Muckraker:>THANKS. WHEN SHOULD I EXPECT RESULTS?
Mystic:>OR WHEN SHOULD YOU START THINKING MAYBE THEY GOT ME?
Danielle hated to appear so blunt, but naked words were a downside to e-mail.
Muckraker:>YES.
Mystic:>ROTF.
Rolling on the floor, Danielle translated the e-mail jargon. Terrific.
Muckraker:>THIS ISN’T EXACLY A LAUGHING MATTER.
Mystic:>TRUE. NOT FOR YOUR FRIEND. BUT I FEEL JAZZED. GOING WHERE NO ONE HAS GONE BEFORE. THAT KIND OF THING. I’LL CONTACT YOU IN THREE OR FOUR HOURS.
Muckraker:>OKAY.
Mystic:>IF I GO BEYOND THAT WINDOW, THEY PROBABLY THREW A NET OVER ME AND PUT THE BODY IN A WOOD CHIPPER.
Danielle didn’t respond, thinking of the hard way Lizuca had died.
Mystic:>SORRY. WASN’T THINKING. YOU LOST A FRIEND. GIMME THE PIC AND LET’S SEE IF WE CAN FERRET OUT SOME GET-BACK AGAINST WHOEVER DID IT.
Muckraker:>I’LL BE LOOKING FORWARD TO HEARING FROM YOU.
Danielle attached the picture of the CIA agent and pressed the Enter button. The menu box told her uploading the picture would take eighteen minutes. She sat and waited, watching the building continue to burn and thinking about the man First Sergeant Gander had taken charge of.
There were a lot of mysterious goings-on. Danielle could hardly wait to find out what the real story was.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0907 Hours
Major Augustus R. Trimble rose from behind his massive desk as Megan entered his private office in the Joint Services building. He waved her toward an oxblood leather chair in front of the desk.
The office was large, bigger than most Megan had seen at the post. That was a sure sign that the base commander, General Amos Braddock, liked the
