Guilty Minds

We had a covenant, and you know the terms. Ms. Seeger was in violation. You stand down, including your friends, and you’ll see her again.

I stared at it. Vogel wasn’t going to admit on a phone call to having kidnapped Mandy. That could be used against him, legally. So why was he sending an incriminating text?

After about five seconds, the message disappeared, and I understood why he wanted to communicate this way. His messages were sent securely and disappeared as soon as they were read. I typed back:

Deal. Release her now or I’ll come after you.

Then I hit send. I looked at Balakian. He was still talking on the phone, shaking his head and saying, “Is there another way to try?”

Another text message appeared in the Disappearing Ink app:

MS will be released when you return home, to Boston. Not before.

I tried to take a screenshot, but that message disappeared as well. No wonder Vogel was being this explicit. Screenshots didn’t work. Even if I managed to take a picture of my iPhone’s screen, there’d be no way to pin it on him.

I looked up at Balakian. “Did you ping him?”

He shook his head. “That’s not his cell phone number.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a VOIP software-based number. Like Google Voice.”

“Not entirely following you.”

“It’s… we can only ping real cell phone numbers. This is a software-generated number.”

“But you can trace it, right?”

“Not this one. It tracks to a Tor-sponsored service.”

“Tor, the anonymous network?”

He nodded.

My understanding of Tor was pretty limited. I knew it was a network that lets you be anonymous on the Internet. Much beyond that, and I’m useless.

“He’s also using a VPN service with it, which further complicates our ability to track that number. So as far as we can tell, it’s a black box. No luck.”

“You know technology. That’s unusual for a cop.”

He shrugged modestly. “A decent basic working knowledge, that’s all. I’m no hacker, trust me. What’d you find out?”

“They have Mandy Seeger, and they’re not releasing her until I go back to Boston.”

“What? Let me see.”

“There’s nothing to show you. The texts have disappeared.”

“Disappeared.”

“We’re dealing with Tom Vogel. He’s a clever guy.” I checked the Disappearing Ink app again and found nothing. I typed out another message to Vogel:

Got an offer for you.

I waited. A minute, a minute and a half.

Finally a reply came back:

Fold up your tent and go home, and MS gets to return to her life. Persevere, and her death will be on you.

I showed the message to Balakian. He stared at it, said, “Jesus!” and handed it back. By the time I went to look at it again, it had disappeared.

“Please keep me updated, in real time, on what you find on the traffic cameras in Anacostia,” I said. “It may be our best chance to find her.”

“Heller, I don’t know how easy you think this is, but the tower location we have is approximate. She could have been anywhere within a square mile, maybe more. That covers a lot of cameras. We don’t have that kind of manpower.”

“Or time. Look, just start with the traffic cams. I need to get going.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in touch. I have an idea.”

71

Walter McGeorge, a.k.a. Merlin, was doing a sweeping job at a law firm in Alexandria when I reached him. He called me back an hour later, when I’d returned to the hotel.

“I thought you were never going to talk to me again,” he said.

For a moment I’d forgotten what he was so sheepish about. Then I remembered about the burning paper in the strong room at the law firm, and the file he left behind. It felt like months ago.

“Come on. Screwing up is part of the job. Keeps it interesting.”

“I feel terrible about what happened. I’m really sorry.”

“Well, now’s your chance to make it up to me.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to need a bunch of gear. A miniature tracker.” I explained. “Any hunting stores near you? I need a tranquilizer rifle or pistol and maybe ten darts. A kit’ll cost you a couple thousand bucks-do you have the cash?”

“I can charge it on my credit card as long as you pay me back soon.”

“No problem. Now, this’ll be the hard part. A couple sticks of dynamite.”

“Dynamite?”

“Either that or ammonium nitrate.”

“It’s getting really hard to buy ammonium nitrate. I don’t know, man. They’re both hard. Dynamite or ammonium nitrate, this is going to take me a couple of days.”

“We don’t have that.”

“When do you need it by?”

“Noon tomorrow at the latest.”

“Impossible.”

“Okay,” I said, ignoring him. “And a couple of electric blasting caps.”

“Blasting caps?”

“Electric. And zip ties. The heavy duty kind.”

“Okay.”

“A couple of five-gallon cans of gasoline.”

“This is a goddamn Nick Heller scavenger hunt.”

“And a weapon. Semiautomatic pistol, if you’ve got one to spare.” Like the others in my Special Forces team-operational detachment Alpha, as the lingo has it-Merlin was comfortable around weapons and kept some in his home, though in reality I’m sure he never had call to use one.

“You care what caliber?”

“No.”

“How about a Ruger Mark II twenty-two LR?”