“Exactly. And who would hire someone with no practical experience to manage a business?”
“Nepotism. Friendship.”
“Right. Roger’s parents are in shipping, old established business. He could have worked for that company, but no. He did nothing until Trask opened up.”
“I guess your theory makes sense, but Roger could have met virtually anyone in those circles. His father could have called in favor after favor to get him a position.”
“Nowhere in these files is there any record of the FBI interviewing Roger’s father except for one notation that an agent went out after Paige Henshaw was killed, and Roger’s father told this agent he’d disowned his son when he started the online pornography business. He also said he didn’t know who Trask was.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “But they didn’t ask the right questions.”
“Namely, who were Roger’s close friends during high school?”
“Makes sense.” The brief excitement on Kate’s face disappeared. “But it does us no good now! We can’t get to Massachusetts and interview the man. We don’t have the time.”
“But Peterson has the contacts. He can get someone out there first thing in the morning.” Dillon picked up a piece of paper where he’d handwritten fifty-six names. “And ask the father if any of these boys were close to his son. Trask’s real identity is unknown to us, therefore he is probably using it to run a legitimate business or any number of things.”
“And if we can get a photograph…” Kate’s voice trailed off. She was the only person alive who had seen Trask in person.
“I’m going to call Quinn Peterson, okay?” Dillon held up his cell phone. The call could be traced, which was why Kate had only used her double-blind IM account to communicate with Peterson.
She nodded slowly, understanding that if Quinn wanted to, he could turn over the records and the feds could burst in and arrest her.
“I trust him,” she said.
Dillon left the room since the cell phone couldn’t pick up a reception inside. The night was cold and he pulled his jacket around him. He walked to the vista where he and Jack had spoken earlier. He didn’t know where his brother had since gone.
The reception was mediocre. “Kincaid?” Peterson said, white noise distorting his voice. “I’m on a military transport with Patrick.”
“How is he?”
“Alive.”
“Has he regained consciousness?”
“No.”
Four hours now. That wasn’t good. “Thanks for getting him out of there fast.”
“I didn’t expect you to call.”
Dillon explained to him what he’d found in the files and about interviewing Roger Morton’s father about associates in high school.
Peterson didn’t say anything, but the crackle on the other end assured Dillon that he was still on the phone. “It’s a good lead,” Peterson finally said. “And we have nothing else. I have some men out at the island where the cabin exploded, looking for evidence, but everything was pretty much destroyed. Magnesium burns hot.
“Connor said Trask had to have been watching to know when to call the cell phone. That there was a camera across from the door.
“I’m sure it’s melted, but we have the best people looking at radio and Internet feeds. Time is not on our side.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Dillon said.
“I’ll send an agent out to Morton’s house first thing in the morning. E-mail me the list of names and I’ll get them out there.”
Dillon hung up and heard a voice behind him. “Feds know anything?”
Jack. Dillon turned around. “Patrick hasn’t regained consciousness. They’re heading back to San Diego for surgery.”
“I know. My team is on its way back to Hidalgo.”
“And you?”
Jack’s dark eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “I’m in it till the end.”
Dillon raised an eyebrow. “I guess I just don’t know what to expect of you.”
Dillon’s brother stared into nothingness. “I suppose I deserve that.” He turned back to Dillon, a tic in his neck showing that he was angry. “I’m a lot of things, Dillon. But more than anything, I’m a man of my word.”
Jack walked off into the darkness.
Mick had hoped Roger would forget or change his mind. He’d been physically ill since Roger had told him he would be next up with Lucy Kincaid.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even get hard. Thinking about hurting her had him so twisted in knots he doubted he’d ever get it up again. He was perspiring and wondered if he’d eaten something bad.
Or maybe it was fear eating at him. He was about to do something that would get him killed. Get Lucy killed as well. But he didn’t see that he had a choice.
He’d used his homemade sextant at sunrise and sunset to figure out the longitude and latitude of the island. But if he was off by a fraction of a degree, he could send Kate Donovan miles in the wrong direction.
Did he trust his skills? He had to. He didn’t have much choice at this point. He’d been trying to figure out a way to get Lucy off the island, but she was never unwatched. Denise, Trask, or Roger watched her at all times through the numerous cameras on the island. He was being watched, too. He’d had to be extremely careful, and he feared that between his caution and fear of exposure his coordinates were off.
But he had to do something until he found a hole big enough to rescue Lucy.
He had no way of contacting Merritt without Roger or Trask seeing the transmission. If they caught him, they’d kill him and Lucy before the FBI could make it to the island.
The only thing he had was knowledge. Knowledge that Trask had an open line on Kate Donovan. Though Mick didn’t know why, Trask had been watching Kate closely, watching her every cyber move. If Mick could piggyback the transmission on the open channel, Trask wouldn’t notice.
If he did figure it out, Mick would be dead. But Mick was already staring at his death warrant. He didn’t see any way out of this operation alive.
Mick used an old FBI training code from his Academy days. It meant nothing except to other graduates. A joke. Kate would get it.
Mick had never met Kate, but he knew of her. Everyone did. She was almost a legend. His boss hated her, but Mick liked her. You had to like someone who went balls to the wall when they believed in something.
She’d be able to decipher the coded message, and then hopefully recognize the numbers as time and degrees of sunrise and sunset. Then all she had to do was look up the data on the Internet to get the exact longitude and latitude.
She was smart. She had to understand. He just hoped she was smart enough not to come alone. She had to know that Trask wanted to kill her. Torture her first. Trask hated her. Whenever he spoke of Kate it was with a sick, twisted anger that showed in every molecule of his body, down to his black soul.
It would be brutal, worse than anything he’d done to those other women. Worse than anything she could possibly imagine.
The transmission had just gone through when the door opened.
“You’re on, lucky boy,” Roger said, slapping Mick on the back. “Watcha doing?”
It was innocuous in tone, but Mick didn’t trust Roger.
“See this?” Mick pointed to a camera that was flickering. Mick had programmed it to flicker.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t know. I need to go out and check the wires.”
“It’s just a flicker. Come on. The show must go on.”
Mick followed Roger, wiping sweat off his brow.
