No Woman Left Behind (9 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Once again everyone started talking. Woodward had to thump the table to get people quieted down.

Slash walked behind my chair. “First order of business is finding out who owns the address. It’s private, but it’s likely legit. I had time only for a quick overview, but it looks like the chat room was established about four years ago and has about one hundred and twenty members who visit on and off to discuss their views on the works of Dostoyevsky. My best guess is that Broodryk intends to simply to co-opt the chat room and use it as a place to talk. If I were him, that’s what I would do. I don’t think we’ll get anywhere with discovering the source of the IP address, but we’ll have to investigate it anyway.”

I glanced up at the clock. “How much time do we have left?”

Woodward scrawled something on his notepad. “Four damn hours. Not much time.”

“It’s enough.” I sat back in my chair. “He knows we’ll be tracing him with everything we’ve got. No doubt he’ll take every precaution.”

“No doubt,” Slash agreed. “If he chats, it will be short and sweet. He already knows what he wants to say... Where he wants things to go.”

Grayson Reese’s eyes widened. “How can we find him in a public chat room? How will you track him?”

“Very carefully,” I answered. “We’ll put the best we’ve got on him. He’ll throw every trick in the book at us, but we’ll be ready and tracing him in multiple ways. It’s a crap shoot, but hopefully we’ll get lucky.”

Mark stood up. “I’ve already got my team on the IP address, tracking it down, finding out what we can about it in the most discreet way possible.”

Slash nodded. “Good. We’ll need to convene a separate tech meeting to discuss our strategy for the chat. First order of business is to get her approved to join the chat room, as it’s both moderated and private. Get a couple of spots for us, too.”

“I’m on it,” Mark said.

I blew out a breath. “I need to think through what I should say to keep him chatting. Every second will count.” I turned to Grayson. “You’ve compiled the most information on him and have been studying him for more than four years. You probably have the best handle on his mental state, his likes and dislikes, and what pushes his buttons. I need you to brief me in detail and sit next to me during the chat in case I need advice.”

“Of course.”

“So, when do we conduct this chat?” Woodward asked. “How will we know when or if he’ll appear?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I guarantee he’s already there—in and out—checking for me, which will be a good place for the tech team to start. They’ll begin tracing those people who have been active for the past few days. We’ll go in when we’re ready, but at least an hour before the cut-off time. For an initial post, I’ll provide a clear identifier so he’ll know it’s me. If he responds, then we’re off.”

“And from this chat, we should be able to isolate his location?”

I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe. It depends on what he does and what precautions he has in place. There are no guarantees. But what choice do we have?”

Woodward looked around the table at the somber faces. “Apparently none. Okay, let’s do it.”

* * *

While the team prepared, Grayson Reese gave me more details on Broodryk. I liked the analytical bent of her mind. Two hours and four cups of coffee later, I felt like I knew Broodryk better than I ever wanted. All the information was useful, but I had a stomachache and a serious case of the jitters.

Minutes were ticking past. How could I be certain whether the Dostoyevsky chat room was Broodryk’s true plan, whether he would even show, or if he’d just kill Elvis to spite me?

Broodryk would never make it easy.

I stood and started walking around the room, trying to burn off some of the nervous energy. Grayson watched me thoughtfully.

“It sucks to be you right now.” She took a sip of her coffee. “On the other hand, it’s a stroke of good luck for us that Broodryk has this crazy obsession with you. It’s the most activity at one time we’ve ever seen out of him. You’ve helped generate more material on him in a few weeks than we’ve been able to accumulate for the past four years. You really pissed him off.”

“Hooray for me. How is it that you got stuck following his every move?”

“Wrong place and the wrong time, I guess. His file got dumped on my desk. Who knew he’d turn out to be such a major threat to the world?”

“It’s funny how things like that work.”

“Well, it turned out I was a good choice. No husband, kids or social life to speak of, so I have the time to devote to tracking his every move.”

“That’s a break for me. I’m glad you’re on our side.”

She smiled. “Look, Lexi, I know you’re worried, but we’re going to catch him. Eventually. Everyone said Osama bin Laden would be impossible to find and we nailed him. If we really want him—and we do—we’ll get him. Broodryk is now the number-one priority of the American government, not to mention most of our allies. His days are numbered.”

I put my hands on the back of one of the chairs. “The real question is time. Will we be able to find him in time to save Elvis?”

I knew her answer when she wouldn’t meet my gaze. “That’s what I thought. But I’m not giving up.”

“You shouldn’t. I’m going to do everything I can to help you. Trust me, weirder things have happened.”

I nodded. “Let’s just hope this is one of them.”

* * *

“Are we ready?” I asked, my stomach clenching.

The room was packed. We’d moved to a bigger conference room to accommodate more people and equipment. Someone had decided it was necessary to film the proceedings. There were cameras pointed at me from all four corners of the room. Slash sat to my left and Grayson to my right. Woodward paced behind me and acted like the conductor of the operation.

I wanted to throw up, but I swallowed hard and kept my game face on. In minutes I would know whether I’d properly unraveled the clues or if Elvis would die because I’d screwed up.

I felt a trickle of sweat bead on my temple. All these people and the pressure were making me physically ill. Slash reached under the table and patted my thigh.

“You’ve got this,
cara
,” he murmured.

I pressed my lips together and poised my fingers over the keyboard. “Am I good to go?”

Mark checked something on his screen and flashed me a thumbs-up. “You’re ready, Lexi. I count four active accounts in the room right now. We’ve already started a trace on all of them. Good luck. Team, stand by.”

It was as if the entire room held its collective breath as I started typing. No pressure there...

I popped into the chat room using my personal account and typed.

Hello. I’m new here. I’m a big fan of Dostoyevsky, especially his novel The Idiot. Anyone else like this book?

I waited and watched the blinking cursor.

Grayson leaned over and asked, “What’s your call name again?”

“The Idiot,” I replied. “Nothing like a little overkill, just in case.”

“Good plan.”

It took exactly three minutes and four seconds to elicit a reply.

Hey! Nice to have you here. I enjoyed The Idiot, too. I felt like this was Dostoyevsky’s best work in terms of depicting actual Russian life rather than just providing an aloof intellectual commentary disguised as a literary novel.

“I’m on it,” Mark said. “Appears to be the registered moderator. Running the trace now. Looks straight and clean so far. Narrowing it to New England. To Rhode Island. To a residence in the city of Cranston. No evidence of evasion or unusual protection.”

Slash shook his head. “It’s not him.”

“Put someone in Rhode Island on stand-by anyway,” Woodward ordered.

Mark nodded. “Check.”

“Okay, I’m responding,” I said, and started typing.

I agree. My favorite part is when Myshkin tells Rogozhin that a man’s faith could be ruined by looking at Hans Holbein’s painting of the Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb.

“Come on, come on,” I murmured. “I’m here.”

Wow. That’s kind of an odd part of the novel to be your favorite. What prompted you to pick that?

“It’s the same guy responding,” I reported. “Are there still three other people in the room?”

Mark typed some commands. “Yes. But they are different than those who were logged in just minutes ago. We are running traces on all of them. The most recent activity in the room, other than the chat you are having right now, was eleven minutes ago. It surprises me that it’s a pretty active group for such an archaic topic.”

“Go figure,” I muttered. “Okay. I’m responding.”

I guess it’s because I struggle with the concept of faith myself. Is God real? Can we better ourselves through his teachings? Is death the end for us or is there life beyond our existence as we know it?

Slash glanced sideways at me, his fingers pausing over the keyboard. I shrugged, then focused my screen as the moderator typed something else.

Ah, now I see your reasoning. There are some critics who say that Prince Myshkin is a Christlike figure and represents all that which is pure and noble in the human spirit. But Rogozhin is struggling with his faith, too.

Mark straightened in his chair. “Hello. We’ve got a sudden influx of chatters. Sixteen so far.”

My heart started pounding. “It’s Broodryk. He’s flooding the room on purpose.”

“Stay calm,” Slash warned. “Pick them off, one by one. He’s got to choose at least one identity to chat with her.”

“He’ll mix it up,” Mark said, his voice containing a trace of panic. “He’ll hop from one to the next. God, he’s added more. We’re up to thirty-four chatters now.”

“Steady,” Slash said. “Take them in order. We’re still in control.”

Well, hello, new member. It took you long enough. I didn’t think you’d show, but I’m impressed you did. Well done.

“It’s Broodryk,” I said, the calmness of my voice contrasting the way my hands trembled. “We have contact.”

Woodward peered over my shoulder. “Someone find me that son of a bitch.”

I inhaled a steadying breath and typed my response.

I’m usually late to parties, if I come at all.

Grayson nodded approvingly. “Good. Casual, a bit uncaring. Challenge his superiority, his manhood. Don’t let him know how scared you are. You must be a worthy opponent.”

Broodryk’s response was immediate.

You passed the first test. Congratulations. Your friend is glad you came, too. He can’t wait to see you. Neither can I for that matter. Ready for a rocking good time? A threesome perhaps?

Slash stiffened beside me.

“Ignore the sexual overtones and go straight to the heart of the matter,” Grayson advised. “He’s trying to intimidate you. Ask about Elvis.”

I pushed aside my revulsion and typed.

How’s Elvis?

There was a pause, then a message popped up.

Hey, are you guys talking about Dostoyevsky or setting up a date? Take it offline if you are getting hot and heavy.

“It’s the moderator. He’s pissed. How are we doing on the trace?” I asked.

“Broodryk has help,” Slash said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “No way he’s doing this himself. Too many moving pieces. But that’s good news. Could be whoever is helping him isn’t as well protected. We’re tracing both him and his accomplice or accomplices. But he’s throwing up a lot of smoke screens.”

“He is switching identities,” Mark said. “He’s all over the place.”

A message popped up.

Elvis is fine and ready to dance in his blue suede shoes. Waiting to see if you will come through for him or let him expire in a most unfortunate way.

Grayson heard the catch in my breath. “Keep him talking. Remain aloof. Cool.”

I’m not much for games. What do you want, Broodryk?

I already knew the answer, but I watched the letters appear on my screen anyway.

You, of course.

“Keep him going,” Slash said. “He’s exhausting his time. We’re closing in.”

“Tell him you want to make sure Elvis is still alive before you’ll play his game,” Grayson advised.

I’m not playing your game until I know Elvis is okay. Prove it to me.

I lifted my fingers from the keyboard. Sweat trickled down my temples. Words popped up on the screen.

Okay that’s it. I’m terminating you guys. This is getting too creepy.

“It’s the moderator.” My voice shook. “He’s throwing us out.”

“Damn,” Mark said. “We’re making progress here.”

“Can’t you stop him?” Woodward asked. “Someone stop that moderator.”

“Wait, Broodryk uploaded a file,” I said, staring at the screen. Grayson leaned in to look, practically lying on me.

Come to these coordinates. You have four days and not a minute more to obtain the next clue. Ask for the elder, as he has it. However, he requires the current location of the Kwabano in exchange for his cooperation. I suggest you bring that information with you. You may bring whomever else you want with you, as long as it includes Hands. Pentz wants to play, too. You must come in person, Lexi Carmichael. If you send someone else, it’s game end. I will know. Your next clue is there. Here is proof of condition. See you soon.

I tried to type something, but nothing happened. “I’ve been blocked. Damn.”

“Broodryk’s gone, too,” Mark reported. “Vanished.”

“Did we get him?” Woodward asked. “Someone explain to me what the hell is happening.”

Mark rubbed his forehead. “We didn’t get him exactly, but we’ve got a boatload of data to examine. He’s in there somewhere.”

“I didn’t get to see what he left.” Panic made my voice shrill. “What proof did he leave? Where are the coordinates? Did anyone get it?”

Slash put a hand on my arm. “It’s okay,
cara
. I’m still in the chat room. We’re good. I’ve got it.”

“Oh, jeez. Thank goodness. What is it? What did he leave?”

Slash turned his laptop towards me. He opened a file and a picture of Elvis appeared. He was bruised and gagged, but clearly alive. A newspaper in a foreign language, Arabic perhaps, had been propped on his lap. Slash enlarged the photo and I saw it had today’s date on it. On the bottom of the photo were a set of coordinates, clearly marked as longitude and latitude.