terrorism, whatever it takes. I’ll send my regional profiler over to consult. We’ve got a hostage out there somewhere. Copy that?”
“Yessir,” says the cowboy. “Let’s take this one back to the barn, boys.”
“This is Bravo, Dan,” says Payne, off camera. “You want us back in Kansas City?”
Baxter thinks for a few seconds. “No. Get your wounded squared away, then get back here ASAP. Sorry, buddy.”
“No problem. We may doze, but we never close. Mount up, girls.”
The video screens wink out.
“Why didn’t we trace through to that second phone?” Baxter asks, turning toward the techs.
“He could have blocked it,” one answers. “With the right equipment. Some kind of relay. Probably that gray box.”
“Equipment notwithstanding,” says a calm voice on the periphery, “I believe Mr. Strobekker’s ruse worked on a deeper level.” It’s Lenz, of course. “He led us through a dozen states, overseas, then through that little burg in Wyoming-which we assumed was his piece de resistance-and finally to the Dallas apartment. That was the first actual residence we tracked him to, so we assumed it was where he lived. I’ll bet the technicians didn’t even try to look beyond it.”
I think I see a couple of sheepish faces among the techs.
“The question,” says Baxter, “is can we trace the call now that it’s been terminated?”
“There’ll definitely be a record,” a tech says brightly.
“I don’t want to rain on your parade, guys,” I chime in, “but I think you’re going to find that telephone simply dialed an Internet on-ramp, and from there sent a message to some anonymous bulletin board a thousand miles away. Strobekker dropping off-line during the raid was probably coincidence. He wouldn’t risk a direct link to his physical location. If you get the phone records, you can find out where that computer sent its warning message
Baxter’s face tightens with frustration. “We have access to some excellent cryptanalysts. If we could find the message, we might be able to break it down.”
“That’s not the point. We already know what it says. It might be only one character. It might be a ‘test’ message, of which there are thousands. It might even say, ‘Dear Daddy, somebody just blew me up.’ ”
“Goddamn it!” curses Baxter, his anger like a kerosene heater in the room.
“You need Miles Turner,” I say bluntly. “He can nail this bastard for you.”
“Turner may
“Bullshit, Doctor.”
Baxter is studying me intently. “Is Turner that good?”
“He is truly scary, Mr. Baxter.”
“I’ll hire him as a consultant. Plenty of precedent.”
“Not Turner,” Lenz says firmly.
Baxter waves his hand and the crowd of techs scatter like leaves. When they are sufficiently dispersed, he says on a low voice, “We’ve taken casualties, Arthur. We’ve got a hostage out there. Hopefully alive. You’ve got a proactive plan, but it’s a long game. We’ve got to get this SOB before he kills Rosalind May or anybody else.”
“Using Turner would be a mistake, Daniel. If you want an electronics wizard, call the NSA. If you want Strobekker, give me Cole.”
Baxter considers this long enough for me to get edgy. Then he says, “The Bureau was slow to get on the computer crime bandwagon, Arthur, and I’m not ready to say we’ve caught up. Cole came close to saving a life today, and he says Turner’s better than he is.”
“Daniel,” Lenz says evenly, “if my past work means anything to you, trust me now.”
Baxter bites his bottom lip and probes Lenz’s eyes. A silent conversation is taking place based on years of professional association, and maybe more than that. It might as well be in Farsi. Lenz is the first to speak aloud.
“How’s my alter ego coming?”
Baxter does not respond. Then, almost grudgingly, he says, “Another hour should do it. It’s tough to get access to some of those offices after hours.”
While I have Baxter close, I take a chance. “Mr. Baxter, I’m ready and willing to assist Dr. Lenz, but I’d like to do as much of it as I can from home. There’s no reason we can’t work together that way. And quite frankly, I promised my wife I’d be back by morning.”
Baxter’s mind is miles away. “How long do you need Cole to get you started, Arthur?”
“Impossible to say.” Lenz glares at me. “He won’t make a commercial flight anyway. Not back to Mississippi.”
Baxter checks his watch, then looks at Lenz. “I’d prefer not to use the regional SWAT teams for this. At oh- one hundred hours I’m deploying a second Hostage Rescue unit from Quantico to a more southern-lying city. Jan Krislov offered us the use of her corporate jet, and I took her up on it. Cole, you get Dr. Lenz set up and running in three hours, you can hitch with HRT. I’ll have the pilot set you down in Jackson. Good enough?”
“That’s where my truck is. I appreciate it, sir.”
Lenz looks like he might argue, but Baxter doesn’t give him the chance. With a curt nod he is away and reaching for a telephone.
Lenz motions me toward the door of the command post. Keeping my arms close to my body, I move carefully down the narrow aisle between the shelves of humming equipment, past Baxter, past the short-sleeve poly-cotton shirts glowing in the pixel light. Someone rises to let me out of the trailer, and when my feet hit the pavement I expel the conditioned air from my lungs and drink in the cool forest breeze.
Hearing the scrape of a shoe behind me, I turn and find the square-jawed face of Special Agent Schmidt staring from the darkness.
“Why don’t you wait in the car?” he suggests, opening the door of Lenz’s Mercedes.
Two minutes after Schmidt closes me inside, Lenz slides into the driver’s seat, holding a fresh Tab in one hand and an Evian in the other. He sets both in a plastic drink caddy, then cranks the engine and closes the door. While I wipe the top of the Tab can on my shirt, he lights a cigarette, then exhales into the Virginia night.
“Very smooth,” he says. “Very smooth indeed.”
CHAPTER 19
Dear Father,
The barbarians are at the gate.
It was inevitable, of course. And I have no fear that they will locate me. But I shall have to exercise greater caution when procuring patients. I must assume that the Justice Department will shut down EROS, or that the company will shut itself down for legal reasons. Of course the list makes that academic. I must remember to thank Turner properly.
Or will they shut it down? Perhaps Jan Krislov will resist. It could become quite a cause celebre. Another battle in her crusade for electronic privacy. Someday I’ll have to show her just how private her little universe really is.
My God, such noise from the basement. I should never have let Levy catch sight of the O.R. He should quiet himself, or I’ll be forced to send Kali down to quiet him.
But first things first. I need new patients, and I suppose my next move depends on the FBI. Will they enter the digital forests of the night? Or will they simply try to fence me out?
No matter.
I shall burn all the brighter now.
