Point of Control (12 page)

C
HAPTER
22

Friday, March 20, 2:30 p.m., Washington, DC

Jocelyn pulled into the underground parking garage at the new consolidated crime lab, eager to hear what the experts had to say about the microchip she’d dropped off earlier that week. She and her partner had made little progress on Zach Dimizaro’s murder, and they were counting on the chip’s data to give them a lead. She passed the morgue’s entry and took the elevator to the cyber unit. Only one tech person was on duty, and he’d called her to come in. His workspace was surrounded by tall metal shelves loaded with electrical equipment that he used to access the data on cell phones brought in as evidence.

Despite his dreary cubicle, he seemed cheerful. “Mason Walsh.” He shook her hand, then grabbed a chair from a nearby similar workspace. “We’ve made a copy and completed the hash on this chip, so you’re free to take it with you. We don’t store evidence here.” He handed her a small pink plastic bag.

When she’d dropped off the microchip, she’d learned that a hash was a digital matching and copying process that guaranteed the files couldn’t be tampered with. None of it would matter if she didn’t find a perp to bring into court for Dimizaro’s murder. “What’s on here?” she asked, cutting to the chase.

“An encryption algorithm like I’ve never seen before.”

“You mean you couldn’t access the data?”

“No, I mean it’s a software program that encrypts data and makes it totally secure.”

It sounded like the same software that was on the prototype phone missing from DigSec, where the victim had worked. The implications for law enforcement were worrisome. “Could you break it if you needed to?”

Walsh shrugged. “I’m not an encryption expert, just a data extractor. The pros are still analyzing it.”

That was always the struggle—finding good-guy tech freaks who were better than the black-hat coders. “So this software is valuable?”

“I would think so. Device makers and financial institutions, in particular, are always working to improve their security. One of them might pay handsomely for this software.”

Was he implying that the tech team thought the encryption was unbreakable? “Now that you have the software, doesn’t that give you the key?”

“Yes and no.” He sighed.

“Never mind.” She would give it to Ross to take to the FBI. “You don’t have to explain. Just tell me who you think would kill someone for this chip.” The software probably belonged to the victim’s employer, but it was evidence now.

Walsh pursed his lips and gave it some thought. “I think it would work best in mobile devices. But the big companies already have encryption in place, which, by the way, is blocking our ability to access high-end phones when they come in as evidence. So I’m thinking that if a small company making the burner phones criminals use got hold of this, we’d be screwed.”

Bailey could find those companies, but it would take time. He was the expert. “Can you name some of those businesses?”

“Celltronics, HiWire, ZoGo, Cricket.” He shrugged. “Now that some of the metals for manufacturing are in short supply, the small companies will probably go out of business.”

She asked him to repeat the names as she wrote them down. “Someone recently committed murder trying to steal this chip, so they must think their company has a future.” Yet in that part of town, it still could have been a mugging. The victim could have been preparing to meet someone and not made it to the buy.

“Every company is looking for the best encryption available. Good luck.”

He’d obviously told her everything he knew. “Thanks.” They exchanged business cards, then Jocelyn headed out. Maybe she needed to turn the whole investigation over to the bureau. Once the FBI saw the software, they would get involved anyway.

Back in her car, her phone rang. “Larson, it’s Murphy. We’ve got some kind of disturbance going on at the Presidential Plaza Hotel. Patrol units are handling it, but a foreign diplomat was knocked unconscious, and I need you to take the lead on the assault.”

“What kind of disturbance?” Jocelyn started her car, adrenaline flowing.

“The group was out front, protesting a technology symposium, then suddenly rushed into the hotel and started grabbing cell phones from the attendees. Ironic, eh?”

The phone shortage was officially out of hand, and a hell of a problem for law enforcement. But why was she getting another assignment? Oh yeah, the rest of her team was overloaded with domestic murders and gang shootings, and her boss didn’t expect her to solve the mugging or spend much more time on it. “Is the diplomat still at the hotel?” She pulled out into the street.

“I think so. But get over there and find out what you can before the feds take over.”

Jocelyn almost laughed. Her husband was one of the agents who worked cases involving domestic terrorists and violent activists. He would probably be on the scene. “I’m on my way.”

The Friday afternoon traffic was predictably heinous, and even using her siren, it was a bitch to clear a roundabout that wasn’t moving. When she arrived at the hotel fifteen minutes later, she couldn’t get anywhere near the lobby. Patrol cars had blocked off access to the front entrance and to the back alley loading dock. She parked at a nearby mall and power walked back to the hotel. It was better than running, but it still jostled her breasts to the point of discomfort.

She showed her badge to the uniformed officer at the perimeter of the yellow tape and kept moving. Inside the lobby, a dozen officers were standing guard over and questioning groups of protestors, who were all on the floor. Some were cuffed; others were lying facedown in protest. Because of all the minority deaths and lawsuits, cops everywhere had become more reluctant to use excessive or deadly force. Lawbreakers knew that. Jocelyn approached a patrol sergeant she’d worked with, trying to remember his name. Unlike hers, it was a common African American surname, as she recalled.

“Sergeant Johnson,” Jocelyn said, offering her hand.

“Detective Larson.” The corner of his mouth turned up in his version of a friendly greeting. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to see the diplomat who was knocked out.”

“We’re questioning him in the business center.” The sergeant pointed to a room off the lobby.

“Thanks.” Jocelyn kept moving. She needed to get to the victim before he got tired of answering questions and shut down.

Through the glass wall, Jocelyn saw that the room was bright with artificial light and held four computers and a printer-scanner. A formidable-looking Asian man in dark clothes sat in an office chair, his expression grim. A male patrol officer was seated across from him, leaning forward in a gesture of confidentiality, and a female officer stood near the entrance.

“Detective Larson,” she said, pushing through the door. “I’ve been assigned this assault case.”

Both officers turned to her. The man stood, clearly ready to hand it over. “Good luck.”

She spoke softly, knowing the diplomat would likely hear and understand anyway. “What did you find out?”

“His name is Dukko Ki-ha, and he came here with Lee Nam, some high-value IT expert. They’re from North Korea. That’s all he would say.”

North Korea?
Good grief. Now she hated this case too. “I’ll take it from here.”

The patrol officers left the room, and Jocelyn sat down. She realized she was too close, and scooted her chair back. Intimidation wasn’t her style. “Mr. Dukko.” She assumed he’d given his last name first, the usual practice in most Asian cultures.

He nodded. “Officer Dukko.”

“You’re with the North Korean police?”

“Military special operations.”

The military and the federal authorities were the same in North Korea. “Why are you here?”

“To protect Lee Nam, a cultural asset.”

Protect? Or keep under control?
“Why is he a cultural asset?”

“He’s the best cryptographer in the world.”

Encryption again. How peculiar. “What happened to you? To him?”

“I was drugged and he was kidnapped.” His speech was choppy as he searched for the right words.

“By whom?”

“A thick man wearing makeup.” Dukko hung his head. “I failed my country.”

“What do you mean by makeup?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. He didn’t look normal, but Caucasian faces are new to me.”

“Would you recognize him again?”

“Yes. Was he with your government?”

God, she hoped not. “Please don’t think that. We’ll do everything we can to find Mr. Lee.” Now that she’d won a little trust, she leaned forward. “Please tell me everything that happened.”

“It was—” He stopped. “What is the word? Crazy? These people ran to me and shouted. They wanted cell phones. I didn’t understand. The man with makeup came out of the restroom and shoved a rag in my face. I blacked out. That is all I know.”

“Which bathroom?”

“Near the kitchen. I could smell the food they were making.”

Two men in dark suits barged into the room. One was Ross, her husband. The other agent announced his name and authority. “We’ll take this from here.”

Jocelyn handed Dukko her business card. “Please call me if you need any help.”

She smiled at Ross and left the room.

What the hell did the makeup mean? A disguise? Jocelyn headed for the kitchen to question employees. Someone had to have seen something.

C
HAPTER
23

Saturday, March 21, 5:45 a.m., Seattle, Washington

Bailey woke early and quickly forgot her dreams, but was left with a sense of unease. She rolled out of Garrett’s bed, dressed, and went out for a walk. Clouds as dark and brooding as her mood hung low in the sky. She scanned the street, looking for dark vehicles or anything out of place. The kidnappers wouldn’t be stupid enough to try again, would they? Bailey kept one hand on her weapon.

Keeping a brisk pace as she rounded the block, she analyzed every aspect of her investigation and hit the same dead end. Frustration and anger felt the same to her, and she wanted to punish someone for her discomfort, for her failure.
A gym with a punching bag.
That’s what she needed. She circled the block until she felt calmer, then entered the Thorpes’ house.

In the shower, as she touched her own body, she thought about the sex with Garrett. The second time had been even better. Because it wasn’t just sex, she realized. It was intimacy. They’d talked about everything—but mostly music, politics, and their quirky, lonely lives. Of course, she hadn’t been completely honest with him, because it was too soon, and she was never completely honest with anyone. But no one really was, even if they claimed to be. Relationships would never survive if people said what they were really thinking.
That mole is hideous. Your sister is hot! Your prosthetic is a little unsettling.
Nobody told the whole truth, because it was often too hurtful for the other person.

She held back too, not to protect her lover, but herself. That was just how she was wired. Although with Garrett, she actually thought about his feelings and wondered if he would be hurt when she left Seattle. More important, would she experience a sense of loss? She would soon find out—because it was time to leave. Staying here was accomplishing nothing.

She was still waiting to hear from the state’s business office about real-estate transactions, and Garrett still had dozens of pharmacies to call. Maybe they would both score a lead today—one that brought their searches together and pinpointed where Dana Thorpe was being held. Bailey had until Monday before she had to call her boss and explain why she wasn’t reporting to work in the DC headquarters.

Garrett was awake when she stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “Good morning.”

“Hey,” he said. “Come over here.” His voice and expression were compelling.

“As tempted as I am, I’m not really a morning-sex person.” She smiled to soften the rejection. That’s what honesty cost. “Besides, we have to make progress on this investigation.” She didn’t mention his mother.

From the look on his face, she could tell his mind had gone there anyway. “We’ll find her.” Bailey didn’t know if Dana Thorpe would still be alive when they did, but she hoped to locate the kidnappers before they dumped Dana’s body in the woods, like they had with Nick Bowman’s.

“I’ll shower, make some breakfast, and start calling pharmacies.” Garrett climbed out of bed and kissed her as he crossed the room.

Bailey grabbed her laptop and headed for the living room again. First, she would check the news and see what she’d missed in the last few days of travel and investigation. The top headline grabbed her attention. The story began:

North Korean IT specialist Lee Nam was abducted from a technology-security symposium in Washington, DC. In response, North Korean supreme leader Kim Jong-un blamed the US government and threatened retaliation.

What the hell?
She skimmed the rest of the story, then clicked a link that led to a new page with an embedded video. The heavyset dictator with the weird hair—who commanded one of the largest armies in the world—stood on an outdoor stage. The camera cut to Pyongyang’s main square, where thousands of North Koreans with hand-lettered signs were shouting, “Crush America!” Some of the placards displayed crude drawings of missiles with
US
written on them.

Kim Jong-un held up a hand to silence the crowd. He spoke in Korean, and an aide translated for the media. “Our world-renowned cryptographer, Lee Nam, was kidnapped by the United States government when he visited their capital to attend an educational symposium. Last month, the US sent Jake Austin to spy and corrupt our citizens. Today, the court convicted him, and he will be executed in four days if America fails to return Lee Nam.” The dictator shook a fat fist in the air. “America is a bully, but we are not intimidated! We have missiles aimed at its military bases in South Korea, and we will unleash a firestorm if the United States disrespects our sovereignty in this way again.” The crowd burst into cheers, and the roar of fifty thousand angry people pulsed from her monitor.

Good god.
Bailey shut off the video. The man was insane. Jake Austin was a ridiculous young Hollywood action star who seemed to consider himself an international diplomat. Kim Jong-un was—or had been, anyway—a big fan of his movies and had invited Austin to a private party and tour of the country. The actor had been foolish and delusional enough to go, thinking he could influence the dictator. It had taken him only two days to offend his host and be imprisoned. Three weeks of diplomacy hadn’t secured his release. Now he was going to be killed.

Austin’s fate meant nothing to her, but Kim Jong-un’s follow-up threat was a concern. The dictator probably saw the kidnapping as an opportunity to display military strength, and the US bases in South Korea were definitely in range. No one knew for sure whether North Korean missiles could actually hit US targets, but military officials weren’t foolish enough to assume they couldn’t. Some experts believed that a combination of a mobile rocket launcher, a miniaturized warhead, and a long-range missile could make Los Angeles an accessible target. But hopefully, the situation wouldn’t be allowed to escalate to that point.

Bailey picked up her phone to call her boss. The bureau had to be responding to the indirect threat, and she wanted to know what was being done and who was on the team. Even more, she wanted to lead the search for the North Korean tech guy. Preventing the execution of an American citizen and cooling off a missile threat could be a huge boost to her career. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to abandon her current investigation. It just wasn’t in a megalomaniac’s DNA to stop until he got what he wanted. Other scientists would likely be taken. Even though she’d been pulled off the case, if she produced results, Lennard would get past it. The bureau rewarded agents who saved lives and put criminals away, particularly if the story made the media.

Bailey had a bizarre thought and put down her phone. What if her unsub had kidnapped the North Korean? Lee Nam’s encryption specialty put him in a different category from either of the metallurgists, but his knowledge was still useful to cell phone and device manufacturing. In fact, encryption and security had driven major changes in the industry. The bureau often found itself shut out when they seized new phones as evidence, limiting their ability to access data at rest, as they called it. When the bad guys used anything but old-school communication networks, the FBI couldn’t even wiretap those conversations, limiting their access to data in motion as well. So far, the bureau had failed to negotiate the access issue with device manufacturers, and Congress had failed to pass legislation that would force new communication networks to build in capture capability. All the bureau could do was hire the best hackers they could afford to keep breaking the new security codes. If the megalomaniac wanted to dominate the market, he needed cutting-edge encryption technology. The North Korean might be able to deliver that, and finding him might solve her other investigation.

She had to fly back to DC and gather all the intel she could. The trip would create an opportunity to chat up Agent Lennard, get updated, and convince her boss to give her a week off.

Garrett came into the room, hair still wet from the shower. “Anything new?”

The sight of him gave her a pang of emotion she didn’t recognize. Then she realized that once she left here, she might never see him again. She pushed the thought away and told him the basics. “A North Korean tech expert has been kidnapped, and Kim Jong-un has threatened to execute Jake Austin.”

“Kidnapped? By whom?”

“The little dictator has accused our government, but it’s bullshit. I’m wondering if the same thugs who took your mom are behind this one too.”

“Because the tech guy has some knowledge they want?” Worry lines dug into Garrett’s forehead. He seemed to have aged in the few days since she’d met him.

“I’m flying back to DC to find out what I can. Keep calling pharmacies and send me any names, locations, or situations that involve anti-seizure meds.”

He nodded. “I’ll miss you.” Garrett turned and hurried into the kitchen.

She would miss him too. But even if she never saw him again, their encounter had given her hope that she could care more deeply than she thought herself capable of. She might still have a long-term relationship someday. Bailey blinked back tears, called her favorite airline, and bought a ticket.