Moving Target (38 page)

“Did you know it had a keystroke logger loaded on it?”

“A keystroke logger,” Andrew repeated. “How could it? It was brand-new, still in the box.”

“We traced the serial number,” B. said. “It was part of a shipment of computers that went missing between the factory and the suppliers months ago. I’ve seen this kind of thing before: Someone buys the stolen computers, adds a few unwelcome components, and resells them as new. Most of the time, the buyer is a soon-to-be-divorced spouse trying to get the goods on a partner suspected of catting around.”

Two red splotches of anger appeared on Andrew’s pale face. “That bitch!” he exclaimed. “She’s after GHOST, isn’t she? She used me to deliver the computer, and all the while she was trying to cut me out of the deal. We’re done! That’s it! I’m never speaking to her again. Ever!”

Ali and B. exchanged glances. Andrew Garfield was right. He wouldn’t be speaking to Jillian Sosa ever again. She was dead, and Andrew clearly had no clue.

Ali sat down on a nearby chair and pulled Andrew down beside her. “The two of you were close?” she asked.

“I thought so,” he said.

“Tell us about her,” Ali said. “Tell us what you know.”

“Her parents died,” Andrew said. “I don’t know the whole story on that, because she didn’t like to talk about it. I think they died in a car wreck. She came to live with her aunt and uncle at the beginning of her sophomore year.”

“Do you know anything about the aunt and uncle?”

Andrew shrugged. “Not much. Their name is Barnes. I think her
uncle’s name is Howard. He’s from here. Her aunt is Katrina or Katerina or something that starts with a K. She came from Mexico. They’re loaded, I guess. They live on Par Five Drive in San Leandro Country Club Estates. They drive fancy cars. Jillian has a new BMW, and they let her do whatever she wants. She can come and go at all hours while the rest of us have to deal with curfews.”

“Why did Jillian want GHOST?”

“Do you know what GHOST is?”

Ali nodded. “Just the basics.”

“Well,” Andrew said, “we all want it. Everyone does. GHOST is supposed to be the cyber version of Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak. You can go to any website or domain name and no one can tell you’ve been there. That’s why we were all so surprised when Lance got caught doing that server attack. If he’d used GHOST, he would have gotten away with it.”

“When’s the last time you saw Jillian?” Ali asked.

“The other day when she gave me the computer to take to Lance. I wanted her to come with me, but she said she’d be busy all weekend. Something about relatives from Mexico.”

“Did she mention which relatives?”

“No.”

“Have you spoken to her by phone?”

“I tried calling her,” Andrew admitted, “but I got a weird message that her number was out of order. Probably a problem with billing. That happened to me once when my mom forgot to pay the bill.”

More likely a problem with GHOST, Ali thought. Lance’s worm had disabled Jillian’s phone at the same time it shut down her computer. “So you and Lance Tucker were friends?” Ali asked.

Andrew nodded. “Are,” he corrected. “We’re still friends.”

“What about you and Jillian?” Ali asked. “I may be old-fashioned, but in my world, friends don’t date other friends’ exes.”

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” Andrew replied. “Lance had broken up with her long before she asked me out.”

“She asked you?”

Andrew nodded, but then he squared his shoulders. “But if she’s been going after GHOST behind my back, it’s all over between us.”

It certainly is, Ali thought. She was tempted to tell him the truth, but she didn’t.

“How did she get along with Mr. Jackson?” B. asked.

“Great,” Andrew said. “The teachers all love her.”

I’ll bet, Ali thought.

“Did she ever mention to you that she had some connections to a Mexican drug cartel?”

Andrew laughed outright. “A drug cartel? You’re kidding. Why would Jillian Sosa have anything to do with people like that?”

B.’s distinctive ringtone sounded, and he left the room to take the call. He came back moments later, gesturing for Ali to follow him and mouthing the words “We have to go” all the while holding his hand over the speaker.

Mystified, Ali did as he asked. “What?” she asked, once they were outdoors.

He shook his head to silence her. With his phone on speaker and his hand over the microphone, he held it up for Ali to listen. The first voice she heard was Sister Anselm’s.

“He’s my patient,” the nun was saying. “If you’re taking him, you’re taking me. As the doctor already explained, it’s much too soon for him to leave the hospital. He’s barely out of the ICU and in no condition to leave the hospital without proper medical assistance, which I’m prepared to provide.”

“Please,” a second voice said. “She said there’ll be a doctor there and attendants in the ambulance waiting downstairs. If I don’t bring him to Felix, she says she’ll kill my mother and Thad, just like she did Jillian.”

Ali turned questioningly to B. “LeAnne?”

He nodded. Giving her the phone, he took out his iPad and began typing a message to Stuart Ramey, which he showed to Ali as soon as he pressed Send.

Activate the GPS on Sister Anselm’s phone. She’ll be on the move. We need to know where she’s going. And see if you can find anything on someone named Felix.

“I’ve got to go.” Lance was speaking. “I want to go. This is all my fault and my responsibility.”

“And you’re my responsibility,” Sister Anselm said firmly. “You still need constant medical care. You may leave this hospital against the doctors’ orders, but you won’t be leaving it without me. If you’re getting in that ambulance, so am I. Is that clear?”

With his iPad in hand, B. was typing again, this time to Father McLaughlin.

Sister Anselm and Lance leaving. Ambulance waiting downstairs. Try to get tab info. Follow if possible. Stay out of sight. We’ll be tracking them remotely.

“It’s too dangerous,” LeAnne was insisting to Sister Anselm. “I can’t possibly allow it.”

“Sorry,” the nun replied forcefully. “Unless you’re prepared to resort to violence—something I don’t recommend—I don’t see how you can stop me, so let’s stop arguing and get things under way.”

The phone beeped, indicating that the call had ended.

Ali turned to B. Standing by his elbow, she read what he had written. “You’re sending Father McLaughlin into the fray? Is that a good idea?”

“I understand from Bishop Gillespie that Father McLaughlin has spent the last thirty years serving as either chaplain or priest in some of the hottest hot spots on the planet. He’ll be fine.”

The reply from Stuart Ramey showed up seconds later.

Got her. Still at the hospital. I’ll keep you posted once they start moving. I asked Father McLaughlin to send photos of the ambulance as
well as any of the people associated with it. Facial recognition already worked once on this case. Maybe it’ll work again. I’ll search what I can for Felix.

Ali frowned. “How did he do that so fast?”

“Do what?”

“Get a location for Sister Anselm’s phone.”

“After what happened a few months ago?” B. asked. “Stu has every High Noon–connected phone programmed into our computer system. He types in the number, and the program tells us where that person is. Or at least where that person’s phone is. It gives us a starting point, which was more than we had for you when they slapped you into the back of that speeding Mercedes.”

“Sister Anselm’s phone, too?” Ali asked.

“And Father McLaughlin and Bishop Gillespie.”

“So mine, too,” Ali said. “What about yours?”

“Sauce for the goose,” B. said. His phone rang. “Hello, Detective Hernandez,” he answered. “Apparently we have a new ransom demand that LeAnne Tucker came to the hospital in person to deliver.” He paused and then added, “Yes, at least she was all right a few minutes ago, when we overheard her speaking to Sister Anselm. She claims that both her mother and her son Thad are being held hostage to ensure her safe return. LeAnne referred to the kidnapper as a woman, and what the woman wants is Lance Tucker. They’re having his mother spring him from the hospital and take him to an undisclosed location.”

There was another pause.

“That’s a fair assumption. With Jillian out of the picture, whoever is after Lance’s GHOST program probably needs someone with enough computer savvy to run it. Who better than one of the guys who wrote it?”

Ali could hear Detective Hernandez’s voice rumbling in the background. The sound was enough to let her know that he was speaking, without allowing her to overhear any of the content.

“You’re right,” B. said in reply. “We’ll bring in the local authorities once we know which ones those should be. Until Sister Anselm’s phone starts moving on the map, we won’t know where they’re headed. I’ll let you know when we do. In the meantime, get me whatever you can on Jillian’s auntie. Right, Katerina Barnes. If you could come up with a driver’s license photo and send it to Stu, that would be a big help. Thanks.”

B. ended the call. By then Ali had glanced at her watch and was edging away from him toward the Escalade. “Hernandez is a good guy. Let’s hear it for making friends with at least one of the locals,” he said. Noticing she was slipping away, he added, “Where are you going?”

“I left Leland and Connor at McDonald’s just up the street. They’ve been there for over an hour. I need to bail them out. I was going to take Connor to Austin, but that’s not going to work.”

“No,” B. said. “It won’t. We’ll see if we can check them back in to the hotel here. I hope to hell they take dogs.”

D
uke and Duchess met Ali’s return to the car with an ecstatic chorus of greeting, and they did the same when Connor scrambled into the booster chair in the backseat and fastened his belt. Preoccupied with the dogs, the boy looked up when he realized Ali was pulling in to a hotel parking lot.

“Hey,” he said. “I thought you told me we were going to Austin. To the hospital. I thought you said I’d get to see Lance.”

“Sorry,” Ali replied. “There’s been a slight change of plans. It turns out Lance is in the process of leaving the hospital. Until we know for sure where he’s going, you, Mr. Brooks, and your grandmother’s dogs will have to hang out here.”

Glancing in the rearview mirror, she could see that Connor was screwing up his face in preparation for turning on the waterworks. Leland quickly jumped into the rapidly deteriorating situation and steered things in a more constructive direction. “How would you like to go swimming?” he asked.

“Swimming?” Connor asked. “It’s too cold to go swimming.”

“The hotel has an indoor pool,” Leland told him. “I saw it this morning, and the sign says it’s heated.”

“I didn’t bring a swimming suit,” Connor objected.

“That’s why hotels have gift shops,” Leland said. “That allows you to purchase whatever you may have forgotten to bring along. Now, while Ms. Reynolds and Mr. Simpson get us checked in, how about if you take the dogs for a walk on that strip of grass over there. Do you have the plastic bag I gave you?”

Grudgingly, Connor produced a brand-new poop bag from the pocket of his jeans.

“Be sure to use it,” Leland admonished.

“I know how,” Connor said. “I’ve done it with Grandma lots of times.”

“Sorry to stick you with kid and dog duty,” Ali said to Leland as they watched the boy march across the drive with the dogs strutting obediently at his heels.

“Don’t worry about me,” Leland said. “I can tell that you and Mr. Simpson have your hands full. I’m glad to be able to make some small contribution, but try not to forget me the way you did this morning,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. “That was a bit hard on the ego.”

By the time the dogs had finished and they were all in the lobby, B. had completed the registration process and handled the luggage issues. “Ali and I will take the Escalade,” he said, handing Leland the keys to the Focus. “This way, if you need a vehicle, you won’t be stranded.”

“I expect we’ll be fine right here,” Leland said.

B.’s phone rang, and he handed it to Ali. “I’ll drive,” he said. “They’re headed north, we’re headed south. You’re in charge of communications.”

“Okay,” Stuart said over the speaker. “Detective Hernandez sent me a driver’s license photo for Katerina Barnes, and Father McLaughlin sent me a photo of a woman standing next to the waiting ambulance, smoking a cigarette. We have a match. Sister Anselm’s phone is moving north on I-35, and so is LeAnne Tucker’s, presumably in the same vehicle. Katerina is driving a red Cadillac STS that left the hospital right after the ambulance. Now that they’re out on the open road, Father McLaughlin is staying behind both vehicles by a mile or so, far enough back so they won’t realize they’re being followed.”

“Let’s hope,” Ali said.

“According to the information on Katerina Barnes’s license, her place of birth is Monterrey, Mexico, and her maiden name was Cabrillo.”

“Cabrillo as in Cabrillo cartel?” B. asked.

“That’s right. Ernesto Cabrillo is listed as Katerina’s father. At least he used to be.”

“Are you saying he’s dead?” Ali asked.

“No, I’m saying he disowned her. Sent her packing six years ago without so much as a peso to her name. Fortunately for her, she landed on her feet a few months later when she found Mr. Barnes, first name Howard. He’s a wealthy native of San Leandro. He was a recent widower when he ran into Katerina, three decades his junior, at a party in Acapulco. After a fun-filled whirlwind courtship, they married in Las Vegas three weeks later.”