We climb back into the boat, which is taking on water slowly. Pierre makes a call over his cell phone, which thankfully he has in a waterproof case. Probably standard issue for a man who works on a river. He starts the engine, I start bailing water, and we’re able to limp back to shore, where Marcel and one of his guys are waiting for us with a car. I grab the backpack and salvage the laptop, mostly to keep it out of the hands of the cops. It’s toast – a couple of bullets have gone all the way through. Not a problem, though; I backed up the tracking program on a server before we left. That’s all I need.The boat is halfway underwater and sinking fast when we abandon it and get into the car.“What happened?” Marcel asks as we speed off.“They got Grant.”I’m surprised at how unemotional I am. I refuse to think about the implications of what I just said. All I can concentrate on is getting him back, whatever that takes.“Mon Dieu,” Marcel says, his eyes wide.“It’s okay, I can track hi
Over the protestations of both JP and Dominique, Marcel gives me a burner cell phone. I remember Mailin’s number from the other day, when Grant was on the phone with him during the Eiffel Tower bust and had me repeat it back to him.The memory hurts. All I can think of is Grant’s face – smiling, cocky, alive.No.Stop.Just put one foot in front of the other and DO THIS.I dial Mailin’s number and say a silent prayer.Please God, please let him be alive – Someone answers after a couple of rings.“…hello?” Mailin’s voice says cautiously.“Oh thank God,” I breathe out in relief.“EVE?! Are you okay?!”“Yes – but they got Grant.”“Oh shit…”“Yeah,” I say, and my resentment boils over. “Do you believe me now?”“I always believed you, Eve. But Duplass is definitely convinced.”“So he’s alive?”“Yeah. He got shot, but it was minor. He’ll be fine.”I almost say, Well, that’s too bad, but I refrain at the last second. Not the best move to wish death on the people you need help from.“Are YO
Ten minutes later I’m in a car with two strangers. I’m alone in the back, ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ style.The two guys both look decidedly nervous. I’m guessing that Marcel or somebody told them what might happen.“It’s going to be okay,” I assure them.The guy in the passenger seat looks back and smiles weakly. “Euh… je ne parle pas anglais.”I look at the driver. “Do you speak English?”“Euh…” He puts his forefinger and thumb about a centimeter apart, like he’s pinching something in the air. “A leetle.”Great.I settle back and take stock of what I brought with me. There’s the new laptop; the backpack with the cash, GPS trackers, handgun, super glue, and various credit cards; and the burner cell phone Marcel gave me.Not a whole lot to work with when you’re going up against a psychopath. Especially when you’re trying to save the love of your life.I start seeing signs for ‘Charles de Gaulle,’ so I call Mailin on the cell phone. “Okay, we’re close. Where do we go?”“You’re actually going
The plane taxis to the runway. Take-off is easy, and so is most of the flight.I wish the same could be said for the hacking.I’m able to get into every major telecommunication company’s satellite system, but none of them are running any sort of Atlantic Ocean uplinks – at least, not where Grant’s plane is.Next I try Russian satellites, Chinese satellites, European Union satellites. I don’t need to speak Russian or Chinese, since I don’t need to read emails or web pages. What I’m hacking is called machine code, which is the most basic of all computer languages, and it’s universal.But I still turn up nothing.“Jesus, I forgot how good you are,” Mailin whispers as he watches me work.I smile grimly. “Coming from an FBI agent, that’s damning me with great praise.”“I’m not FBI right now,” he whispers. “I’m your friend.”I look at him, and my eyes fill with tears.“Thank you,” I whisper. “I can’t tell you how much that means.”He nods, and we get back to work.Since I’m not getting anyw
But it turns out the joke’s on me, because the plane flies past Utah, straight on to Nevada – and in a direct line with the Bay Area.“You really think it’s San Francisco?” Mailin asks.“I guess. It makes sense… sort of.” I look over at Duplass. “Now that we know where they’re headed, can we get right behind them? Maybe land immediately after them?”“We’re not arresting them on the tarmac, if that’s what you’re asking.”“Why not?!” I demand.“Because I’m doing this to catch the guy who was behind the deaths of two of my agents, that’s why. Carlson is a distant second.”My anger nearly boils over, but I remind myself that I knew Duplass’s priorities from the beginning. That’s how I was able to manipulate him into letting me come along.“I understand,” I say, holding my temper. “But we want to cut their lead time by as much as possible… just in case.”“Alright,” Duplass says. “Agent Walker, go ask the pilot how close we can get to them.”Mailin stands up.“Hold on,” I say, and activate
Two things happen in parallel.The first thing is we land at Marin County Airport. Duplass must have pulled out all the stops with his FBI credentials, because there’s a black limousine waiting for us at the gate as we taxi in. I personally am overjoyed, because the limo has a high-powered wifi connection. I basically log off from the plane and log on seamlessly to the limo during the thirty steps it takes to get to the car. The limo has one of those ‘everybody faces everybody else’ style of backseats. Duplass, Mailin, and I sit on one side, and JP and Dominique sit on the other. I keep the backpack at my feet.I have to give it to Dominique: she takes one for the team and distracts Duplass as much as she can. They’re sitting directly across from each other, and she puts her all into, even going so far as to undo a couple more buttons on her blouse. Despite all his earlier objections about her being a criminal, Duplass certainly isn’t above ogling her breasts.A retractable barrier i
Dieter Lassenbach is famous among techies for being a recluse. He’s sort of the J.D. Salinger of tech gods.He’s also infamous for being something of an evil genius… but I don’t think anybody would have pegged him as a serial killer. Which means he has the perfect cover.As teenage hackers, Mailin and I knew him as one of the legendary antiheroes of the internet. And that was more than a decade after he’d done most of his damage.Dieter was the only son of immigrants who escaped to the U.S. from East Germany back during the Cold War. A child prodigy and college dropout, he was also one of the first guys to deal in encryption for banking transactions back in the 1990’s. He sold his company for hundreds of millions when he was in his mid-twenties.During the dot.com bubble era, he was known as a tech Nostradamus who could spot an intriguing startup in its early stages. He’d make an insanely low offer for 51% of the stock, and when he was rebuffed, he would then reverse-engineer the comp
“Grant Carlson… we meet again.”Dieter’s real voice is different from Epicurus’s. The main difference is it’s higher pitched. He must have used audio manipulation software, both to disguise his voice and to make it sound more threatening. But the rhythms are the same, and the slight European accent is the same.Grant laughs for several seconds, the kind of laugh when you realize the universe has played a dirty trick on you. Then he shakes his head wearily. “Hello, Dieter.”Wait – What?!“Grant knows who this guy is?!” Mailin asks, floored.Everybody, including Duplass, tries to crowd around the monitor.“How’s the house working out for you?” Grant continues.Holy shit.“He must have designed Dieter’s house,” I mutter.“Magnificently. Even better than the mansion you designed for Erickson.”“Who’s Erickson?” Duplass demands, but Grant answers the question for us.“Then why’d you have to go and burn it down? I liked that house.”“I liked it, too. All those lovely, hidden rooms… simply