One by One (11 page)

‘Would you like to be the first one to vote, Detective Hunter?’ The caller laughed, not waiting for an answer. ‘I didn’t think so. But there’s hope for her yet. The site has just gone online. Maybe no one will see it, or even if they do, maybe no one will vote. Who knows? But at least we’re about to have ourselves ten very exciting minutes.’

In the bottom left-hand corner of the screen a blue digital clock appeared and began counting down – 10:00, 9:59, 9:58 . . .

Suddenly the zero under the word BURIED changed to 1, and then very quickly to 2.

The caller laughed loudly. ‘Oops, that wasn’t me. I promise you. I’m not cheating. I guess the race is on.’

The line went dead.

Twenty-Five

Hunter immediately reached for the phone on his desk and called Dennis Baxter at the LAPD Computer Crimes Unit. He answered it after the second ring.

‘Dennis, it’s Robert Hunter in Homicide Special. The website is back online.’

‘What?’

Hunter heard a hurried shuffle followed by keyboard clicks.

‘No, it’s not,’ Baxter replied.

‘He’s not using the same IP address. He’s got a web domain this time.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘www.pickadeath.com.’

More keyboard clicks. Hunter heard Baxter breathe out heavily.

‘Sonofabitch.’ Baxter paused a beat. ‘What the hell is all that on the screen?’

As quickly as he could, Hunter explained what he knew.

‘So if he gets a thousand votes in ten minutes she’s either going to be BURIED alive or EATEN alive?’

‘That’s what I gathered,’ Hunter replied.

‘Eaten by what?’

The number besides the word BURIED reached 22. EATEN was at 19.

‘Don’t think about that right now,’ Hunter replied. ‘Click whatever buttons you need to click. Do whatever you need to do. Trace this transmission or find a way to interrupt it so people can’t vote. Call your buddies at the FBI Cybercrime Division, I don’t care what you do, but get me something.’

‘I’ll do all I can.’

The countdown clock on the bottom left-hand side of the screen read 8:42, 8:41, 8:40 . . .

BURIED – 47.

EATEN – 49.

‘This is just fucked up,’ Garcia said, running both hands through his hair.

The woman in the box was sobbing so heavily it looked like she was running out of air. She had stopped hammering the glass walls with her fists and feet, and had started clawing at them like a crazed animal. Blood smears started to color the glass.

A moment later she gave up and brought her bleeding and trembling hands to her face. Her lips started moving, and though Hunter could lip-read, everyone watching could easily understand what she was saying.

‘HELP ME. HELP ME.’

‘C’mon,’ Hunter said through gritted teeth. ‘Hang in there.’ Both of his hands had locked into tight fists.

CLOCK – 7:05, 7:04, 7:03 . . .

BURIED – 189.

EATEN – 201.

‘How is this happening?’ Garcia asked, shaking his hands in the air. ‘How are people coming across this website so fast?’

Hunter just shook his head. His eyes were glued to his screen, his expression grave.

Without knocking, Captain Blake opened Hunter and Garcia’s office door and stepped inside. ‘Did you guys get . . .’ She paused mid-sentence as she saw the way they were both staring at their computer screens. ‘What’s going on?’ She started moving toward Hunter’s desk.

No one answered.

Her gaze moved to the computer screen and her breath caught in her throat. ‘Oh my God. He’s back?’

Garcia nodded and quickly explained what was going on.

‘Computer Crimes Unit is trying to do what they can,’ Hunter said. ‘I told Baxter to get in touch with the FBI Cybercrime Division and see if they can help.’ He didn’t glance over to see the captain scowl at him. He didn’t have to. He could feel it. ‘Right now, I’ll take any help I can get to stop this.’ He pointed at his computer screen.

CLOCK – 5:37, 5:36, 5:35 . . .

BURIED – 326.

EATEN – 398.

The woman inside the glass coffin gave up on all her efforts. All she could do now was cry. Suddenly her lips started moving again, and for a split second everyone held their breath. Captain Blake was about to ask Hunter to translate what she was saying, but she didn’t have to. Everyone realized the woman was praying.

Twenty-Six

The phone on Hunter’s desk rang, catching everyone by surprise like an electric shock. The light flashing on the phone’s face indicated an internal call.

Hunter immediately snatched the receiver off its cradle. It was Dennis Baxter.

‘Robert, you’re not going to believe this, but the FBI CCD had already picked up the website. They were trying to figure out what it was when I called them.’

‘Can they help?’

‘I’m on the line with Michelle Kelly. She’s the head of the department. Can you make this into a conference call?’

‘Sure.’ Hunter pressed the necessary buttons. ‘Go ahead.’ He had also put the call on loudspeakers.

‘I’ll make the formal introductions later,’ Baxter said. ‘For now – Homicide Special Detective Robert Hunter meet Special Agent and Head of the FBI Cybercrime Division, Michelle Kelly.’

‘Ms. Kelly,’ Hunter said in a hurried voice. ‘I trust Dennis has explained what we are faced with here. Is there any way you can help?’

‘We’re trying, but so far we’ve only managed to hit brick walls.’ Her voice was feminine but strong. Someone who was definitely used to leading. ‘Whoever is doing this has this thing wrapped up pretty tight.’

‘Ms. Kelly, this is LAPD Robbery Homicide Division Captain Barbara Blake. What do you mean –
wrapped up pretty tight?’

‘Well, one of the tricks in our arsenal is that we can shut down any web transmission inside US territory.’

‘So shut this thing down.’

A nervous chuckle. ‘We tried. It just pops up again.’

‘What? How?’

‘I’m not sure how much you understand about web technology, and I don’t want to just throw tech language at you, but the site’s IP address changes constantly.’

‘Like bouncing a call?’ the captain asked.

‘That’s right. Each new IP address is an exploited server that runs a mirror image of the real one. It’s like looking at someone’s reflection inside a room packed with mirrors. You see hundreds of identical images, but you can never tell exactly where the real image is coming from. Are you with me so far?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK. The server also uses an extremely low TTL –
time-to-live
– which is what dictates how long it will be until your computer refreshes its DNS-related information.’

‘Sorry . . .?’

‘It just means that your computer is constantly asking the server for the website’s address, and every time it does, the server points your computer to a different mirror. So even if we managed to shut one down, it would make no difference, because the server would just show your computer the same website via a different mirror. It’s technically complicated, but that means that whoever is behind this is a damn fine
coder
, a programmer with a fantastic knowledge of cyberspace.’

CLOCK – 3:21, 3:20, 3:19 . . .

BURIED – 644.

EATEN – 710.

‘The name register and the domain servers are all in Taiwan,’ Michelle added. ‘Which adds another level of complication to the equation. As you probably know, since the island nation was claimed by the mainland People’s Republic of China, Taiwan is not recognized as an independent country by the US, meaning we have no diplomatic relations with the Taiwanese.’

‘How are so many people finding this website so fast?’ Garcia asked. ‘Pickadeath.com isn’t exactly the kind of address people will type in by chance.’

‘We’ve already checked it,’ Michelle said. ‘He used social networks. He hijacked other people’s accounts and placed a message on some very popular Twitter and Facebook pages. Those pages get several hundred thousand hits a day. People see the message and curiosity takes over; consequently, they go check it out. Now the reason why people are voting might be because they don’t think this is real. They might think this is a hoax site, or some new type of “click-and-explore” game.’ Michelle paused for breath. ‘There’s also the fact that there are a hell of a lot of sadistic people out there. Some of them would happily eat popcorn and swig at a beer while watching American citizens being tortured to death. And if they are allowed to participate, even better.’

‘Is there anything stopping people from voting more than once?’ Garcia asked.

‘Yes,’ Michelle replied. ‘Once you click one of the two buttons, both of them get deactivated. No one can vote twice.’

‘How do you know?’ It was Captain Blake this time.

‘Because we tried it.’

‘You
voted
on a death method?’

‘Unfortunately, yes,’ Michelle explained, but she wasn’t being apologetic. ‘We came across the website before we got the call from Dennis. We didn’t know what we were dealing with. We were trying to figure it out.’

The woman on the screen removed her hands from her face. Blood and tears had created strange designs on her cheeks, but fear had shocked her into an almost tranquil state. Her eyes weren’t searching anymore; instead they were now coated with immense sadness. Hunter had seen that look before, and he felt as if his stomach was being sucked into a large black hole. Just like the first victim, as if aided by a sixth sense, she had realized that no one would come for her, that she would never get out of that box alive.

A feeling of total helplessness hit everybody at the same time, because everyone had their eyes on their screens.

CLOCK – 1:58, 1:57, 1:56 . . .

BURIED – 923.

EATEN – 999.

Twenty-Seven

It took only a split second, but it felt like an eternity. BURIED changed first, three numbers in quick succession – 924, 925, 926.

Inside Hunter’s office everyone held their breath.

And then it happened.

EATEN – 1000.

As soon as the number changed it started flashing on the screen, announcing to everyone that they had a winner.

No one moved. No one blinked.

On the phone, Michelle Kelly and Dennis Baxter had also gone quiet.

On the screen the woman was still crying. Her hands were still shaking and bleeding.

The seconds ticked away.

Everyone waited.

Suddenly, from the black tube attached to the glass coffin Hunter had noticed earlier, something small and dark shot out and flew across the woman’s body.

‘What the hell was that?’ Captain Blake asked, her gaze ping-ponging between Hunter and Garcia. ‘Did you all see that?’

‘I saw it,’ Garcia replied. ‘But I have no idea what it was.’

Hunter was concentrating on the screen.

Then it happened again. Something shot out of the black tube with tremendous speed.

The woman twitched as if someone had abruptly shaken her awake from a trance. She looked down along the coffin toward her feet. It was obvious she couldn’t see anything, but whatever it was that was now inside the glass enclosure with her had brought her panic back, and then multiplied it by ten. She twitched again, this time a lot more desperately. She ran her hands against her body, almost slapping it, as if frantically trying to brush something off of her.

Three, four, five more entered the glass coffin via the attached tube.

‘Are those some sort of flying insects?’ the captain asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Hunter said. ‘Maybe.’

‘Can insects eat someone alive?’

‘Some would be able to, yes,’ Hunter answered. ‘Certain ants and termite species can feed on flesh, but you would need several thousands of them in there, and none of them moves that fast or looks that big.’

The woman’s face contorted into a look of agonizing pain. Her eyes squeezed tight and her mouth kicked open to let out a scream that no one could hear, only imagine.

‘Oh my God,’ Captain Blake said. Both of her hands moved toward her mouth. ‘Whatever those things are, they
are
eating her alive. This can’t be happening.’

The woman lost control as terror took over. She was desperately kicking her legs and, despite the cramped space, doing what she could to wave her hands across her body and face.

At once, at least fifty new flying insects were dumped into the coffin via the attached tube.

‘Oh Jesus Christ.’ They all heard Michelle say over the phone.

The camera zoomed in on one of the flying insects, and everyone froze.

It was about two inches long, with a blue-black body and raven-black wings. Its serrated, thin legs were just as long as its body. A pair of black antennas protruded from its head.

‘Oh, fuck!’ Garcia said, feeling a cold shiver travel down his spine. He took an awkward step back, as if he’d seen something no one else had. All of a sudden he looked like he was about to be sick.

Twenty-Eight

For an instant Hunter and Captain Blake’s eyes left the screen and homed in on Garcia.

‘Carlos, what’s wrong?’ the captain asked.

Garcia took a deep breath and swallowed hard before regaining his focus and pointing at the screen. ‘That insect,’ he said, still sounding rattled. ‘That’s a tarantula hawk.’

‘That’s a what?’

‘A tarantula hawk,’ Hunter said. He’d also recognized the species. ‘A spider wasp.’

‘That huge thing is a fucking wasp?’ The captain coughed the words.

Garcia nodded. ‘They’re called tarantula hawks because they kill tarantula spiders for food and to lay their eggs.’

‘Oh, for the love of God. Are you telling me that those are flesh-eating wasps?’

‘No,’ Garcia said. ‘No wasp feeds on human flesh.’

Confusion set in on Captain Blake’s face.

‘But their sting,’ Garcia clarified, ‘is one of the most painful insect stings in the world. It’s almost like someone sticking a three-inch, three-hundred-volt electric needle into your flesh. Trust me, their stings are so painful it does feel like chunks of flesh are being ripped from your body.’

Hunter didn’t need to ask; his facial expression posed the question.

Garcia explained. ‘In Brazil there’s a very common species of tarantula hawk called Marimbondo. You find them everywhere. I was stung by four at once when I was a kid, and it put me in hospital. I almost died. The pain lasts only a few minutes but is totally sickening. It can make you delirious. I don’t know that much about them, but I know that they aren’t aggressive by nature, only if provoked.’ He pointed to the screen. ‘Her panic, the way she’s waving her hands about: that would be more than enough provocation. Her best chance would be to lie still.’