“The interesting wrinkle in the story this man gave me,” Sid said, “is the tale of the only survivor of the attack that left six of Abu Alam’s people dead outside the city. The lingering casualty hung on only long enough to give this story to his mates.”
“Okay. I’m interested.”
“The story is,” Sid said in a quiet voice barely audible over the Land Rover’s engine, “that the people who kidnapped Abu Alam and killed his people were American soldiers.”
Danielle thought about that. Her quick mind flew through the variables. “That leaves the army Rangers, the marines, and the American soldiers serving with the U.N. Peacekeeping effort.”
“And all of those chaps have been busy since the attack the night before.” Sid threw his cigarette out the window. “It’s interesting that you divided the Rangers and the marines. I hadn’t thought to do that. But I had thought of the American soldiers serving with the U.N.”
“The Rangers and marines have different agendas,” Danielle said. “Similar, but different. They still maintain their own gear and identity inside the Ranger temporary barracks.” She pointed at the corner ahead. “There’s Achmed’s.”
“So it is.” Sid pulled to a stop in the alley beside the marketplace. He killed the engine and waited.
“Uh-uh,” Danielle said.
“I was sleeping when you called,” Sid said in a grudging tone. “I don’t really feel like walking around the marketplace. Or trudging outside and getting drenched.”
“Sid.”
The British reporter threw his hands up in mock surrender. “All right. All right.” He got out and closed the door, pulling his jacket up over his head. The sound of the pouring rain invaded the Land Rover’s cab. “Would you like anything?”
Danielle had to read his lips through the rain-spattered window. “Bagel. Cream cheese. Coffee.”
“Can’t promise. We’ve had all those power outages. But I’ll see what I can do.” Sid turned and hurried away through the rain.
Working quickly, Danielle hooked up the satellite phone and the notebook computer. She brought the Internet online and scooted over to the mail drop she used to contact Mystic.
Muckraker:>R U THERE?
The cursor blinked at her.
Muckraker:>R U THERE?
She waited long minutes. Her breath started to fog up the window. Paranoia caused her to glance up several times as people hurried by. The marketplace was enclosed and the business was already brisk. The supply of fresh goods often didn’t meet the demands of the people living in the city.
A moment later the mail-drop screen shifted radically. Panicked, knowing that the change could have been caused by someone hacking into the transmission, Danielle almost shut the link down.
Then the cursor jerked into quick motion.
Mystic:>I’M HERE.
Muckraker:>YOU HAD ME WORRIED.
Mystic:>YOU HAD REASON TO BE WORRIED. WHOEVER THESE GUYS ARE, THEY’RE GOOD.
The statement screamed at Danielle, and for the first time she realized that she didn’t know who was at the other end of this connection. Someone had killed her friend Lizuca Carutasu in cold blood, stalking her through the cybercafé and shooting her down without remorse.
Muckraker:>HOW DO I KNOW YOU’RE WHO YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE?
Mystic:>LOL. PARANOIA. YOU GOTTA LOVE PARANOIA. IT’S ONE OF THE MOST ADDICTIVE THINGS OUT THERE WHEN YOU LIVE AND DIE ON THE NET.
Muckraker:>MAKE ME A BELIEVER.
Mystic:>NOW THERE’S A LOADED COMMAND. A BELIEVER IN WHAT?
Muckraker:>YOU.
Mystic:>HEY, I’M TIRED AND THINGS HAVEN’T GONE EXACTLY THE WAY I’D THOUGHT. THOSE GUYS YOU SENT ME AFTER FOUND ONE OF MY CUTOUTS. IF I WASN’T AS SMART AS I AM, THEY MIGHT HAVE HAD ME.
Muckraker:>IF I DON’T HAVE SOME CONFIRMATION IN THE NEXT TWO SECONDS, I’M GONE.
Mystic:>WOW. AND I THOUGHT I WAS THE PARANOID ONE.
Danielle made no reply. Tension built up in her. If it wasn’t Mystic at the other end of the connection, someone could already be tracking her back to Sid Wright’s computer. Granted, the sat phone made success at finding her improbable, but not impossible. All the trackers needed were two sets of gear so they could triangulate her position.
She thought about Sid’s story concerning Abu Alam, the black market dealer who might have been kidnapped by American soldiers. In a city full of strangers and warriors, whom was she supposed to trust? Not too surprisingly, Sergeant Goose Gander came to mind. Now he was a man she’d believe in, and she knew she didn’t want to do that unless she had to.
Mystic:>OK. YOU REMEMBER THE FIRST CARTOON I SENT YOU? THE ONE WITH THE WINTER THEME?
Muckraker:>YES.
Mystic:>NAME THE STRIP.
Muckraker:>YOU’RE THE ONE PROVING YOURSELF.
Mystic:>YOU NAME THE STRIP AND I’LL DESCRIBE THE SCENE.
Danielle hesitated only a moment:>CALVIN AND HOBBES.
Mystic:>AND THE SCENE WAS THE TRAFFIC ACCIDENT INVOLVING THE SNOWMEN.
Danielle smiled a little in spite of the tension. The one-panel joke had been one of her favorite Calvin and Hobbes strips. The two characters had sculpted a group of surprised and frightened snowmen and snowwomen gathered around the parked family car, and another snowman lay on the ground partially under the car as if it had been run over.
Muckraker:>I GUESS WE’RE BOTH WHO WE SAY WE ARE. DID YOU GET THE INFORMATION ON THE GUY IN THE PICTURE?
Mystic:>YES. THIS GUY HAS A REAL HISTORY. AND HE’S DEFINITELY A BAD GUY. YOUR EMPLOYER HAD A TON OF INFORMATION ON HIM.
Muckraker:>YOU SAID YOU ALMOST GOT CAUGHT.
Mystic:>I’M GOOD. REAL GOOD. I WAS SNOOPING AROUND YOUR EMPLOYER’S FILES. SOMEONE WORKING INTERNET SECURITY TUMBLED TO ME, ALMOST GOT ME AND FRIED MY MACHINE. BEFORE I KNEW IT, SOMEONE WAS AT THE DOOR OF THE LOCATION OF THE CUTOUT I WAS USING. HE BROKE INSIDE AND HAD A GUN IN HIS HANDS.
The story immediately reminded Danielle of what had happened to Lizuca. How fast did these people operate?
Muckraker:>YOU’RE IN ROMANIA?
Mystic:>NO. I’M NOT TELLING YOU WHERE I AM. BUT THE CUTOUT WAS IN AUSTRALIA.
Muckraker:>WHAT’S A CUTOUT?
Mystic:>A FALSE ADDRESS. I’VE GOT A FEW OF THEM. IN AUSTRALIA, THE CUTOUT WAS AN APARTMENT I KEEP RENTED WITH A COMPUTER SYSTEM THAT I CAN ACCESS FROM OTHER PLACES. PEOPLE TRACE BACK WHAT I’M DOING. IF THEY’RE GOOD ENOUGH, THEY GO TO AUSTRALIA. OR WHEREVER
