

### GEE

### JD Series Book 1

### Antonio Tripodi

### Copyright 2013 Antonio Tripodi

Published by Antonio Tripodi at Smashwords

Ebook Cover Design by ebooklaunch.com

All Rights Reserved. Please do not reproduce or distribute any part of this novel in any way, shape or form. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Dedication

This one is for those who haven't yet found justice and closure; for the victims of crime, their families, and their friends, and for the innocent who have mistakenly been proven guilty in courts of law. My heart goes out to all of them. I pray they find the justice and closure they seek.

###  Acknowledgments

If I forget to acknowledge someone please forgive me. I thank everyone who has made any input or shown a bit of interest in my first book.

A massive thanks to creative writer  Lauryn E. Nosek for rewriting my original manuscript in her own creative words, bringing my story ideas to life and making the manuscript highly presentable. She brainstormed additional ideas that complemented the infrastructure of my original story. I'd need another lifetime to be as great a writer as Lauryn is. During my upbringing I believed the lies of those who said my words weren't worth two cents. Writing can be a nightmare and tiresome even though I love creating original stories, whereas Lauryn has loved reading and writing for as long as she can remember. That's why I chose her to work on this story. I am so grateful that she welcomed my many questions, as the writing world is new to me.

An enormous thank you to mystery specialist Arthur Vidro for taking the manuscript to new levels with his review, edit and proofread of the manuscript. I love how he fixes flaws in every book he reads, both for fun and professionally. I knew he would tweak the manuscript just for the love of it and not for the money. That's why I picked him. Every manuscript needs an Arthur Vidro, the icing on the story.

Thank you John Greig for encouraging me when you gave me helpful tips, leads and resources for the writing world.

Another thank you to Lucinda Campbell for advice about formatting the manuscript in accordance with e-book standards. You saved me a lot of time for the right price.

Thank you so much ebook cover designer Dane for creating this brilliant cover. You promptly executed everything precisely as requested and are a pleasure to work with.

Many thanks to everyone who is showing an interest on Facebook.

A huge thanks to Smashwords, for their prompt support and for an amazing platform that distributes books to retailers right around the world.

A big thank you goes to my good church friend Mario Iacopetta for believing in me and encouraging me to write. I think you're the most positive person on the planet. You treat everyone the same and never look down on anyone, looking out for everyone's best interests.

A thank you to my brother Joe, who modeled for the book's cover and helped me set up the website.

A thank you to my brother Sam and twelve-year-old Chinese niece, Maya, for asking how the manuscript is going. Maya couldn't wait to read it and I caught her sneaking a peak though she knew she wasn't supposed to. Thanks again to Sam who also modeled for the cover and gave it a much appreciated thumbs up.

A massive thanks to my Mum for trying hard to make as little noise as possible while I was working on the book. You've put up with a lot. Hopefully soon I'll have a soundproof office so you can have your normal life back. I love your Italian cooking; it's out of this world.

Thanks plenty, Dad, for loving me no matter what I did in life and for changing to suit my needs. It's a pity you're not here to see the book published. We'll hang out in heaven one day.

I don't have a wife or children, but I would thank them if I did.

A really big thank you to readers for taking the time to purchase and read my first book. I hope you enjoy the characters and the world I have created. Please submit a book review so I can better serve you and don't hesitate to send me your ideas so I can take the story to new levels.

An awesome thanks to Father, Son and Holy Spirit. You are my everything. Thanks for giving me this story by inspiring me to wonder what it would be like to witness every crime under the sun for the common good of all mankind. Thanks for helping me to relax and for granting me clarity when the story became a nightmare and stressed me out, for reminding me not to place my hopes on this book series. You are the only sure thing in life. You are my life, strength, rock, hope, joy, balance, confidence... and my ultimate success story that can never flop. You have made me totally satisfied, happily settled in my ways, and content in Christ.

### Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Sought (JD2)

Shadows Lurk (JD3)

Everyone's Vegetarian (SG1)

About the Author

###  Chapter One

The strap of the computer bag dug into John's shoulder as he mounted the familiar stone steps of the library. He knew he should have just written the titles down when Professor Lucas read them off earlier, but John had convinced himself he would be able to remember the list and had successfully repeated it at least twenty times on the drive over. Heaving the door aside, he hurried over to the main circulation desk and grabbed a piece of paper and pen from Sarah's supplies before anyone had a chance to break his concentration with a polite "hello" or "how's it going?"

John could hear Sarah's familiar tread as he ran through the list two more times. "I'm missing one," he lamented as she placed a stack of mail on the desk atop a parcel roughly the size of a shoebox.

"Missing one what?" She didn't look up from sorting the mail into several piles.

"An article. From the list Professor Lucas asked me to look up and scan for him this morning."

"How many times have I told you to write these things down?" she scolded. Even though there was a perfectly fine letter opener lying on the desk, Sarah preferred to bend a paper clip out of shape and use that instead. John vaguely remembered a rant about how the head librarian, Mrs. Jensen, criticized every supply Sarah placed on her request list as being too expensive and a drain on the library's limited resources only to turn around and buy things like letter openers that no one had asked for, used, or even needed. It was one of many battles she waged with Mrs. Jensen.

"At least a hundred times," he admitted. "And I never listen. Oh well." He capped the pen and returned it to its cup where half a dozen others bloomed in an uncapped bouquet. "I'm sure it'll come to me while I'm in the stacks; and if not, well, that's why God invented email and texts." He gave Sarah a brief nod. Sarah saluted with the maimed paper clip and continued tearing into envelopes from one of the smaller piles.

John smiled and turned in the direction of his favorite spot. It had been at least ten years since he'd first walked through the library's doors, as a teenager on a mission. Now on a first-name basis with every member of the staff (except Mrs. Jensen whose first name was Mildred), he remembered how lost he had felt that first day as he built up the courage to walk up to the desk. Sarah couldn't have been the first one to approach him that afternoon but she was the first one he'd acknowledged. She'd been staring at him for a while, apparently debating whether or not she recognized him from school or if she was projecting an association where none existed. He recognized her as soon as she looked at him with her clear dark eyes. He knew they were in the same year at school but didn't have any classes together, so he only ever saw her from a distance at assemblies and at lunch from time to time. They'd never officially met. He wasn't sure of her name but he'd know those eyes anywhere. When she asked if he needed help, his instinct was to play it cool but his head had betrayed him and nodded. She had smiled, briefly shown him around, and started babbling about how long she'd been unofficially volunteering at the library where her grandmother was the semi-retired head librarian.

Setting his bag down at his regular spot, John disappeared to the nearby shelves where he knew he'd find the journals with the articles for Professor Lucas. He returned with three of the issues he sought tucked under an arm only to find Sarah waiting for him with the parcel from the circulation desk in her arms.

"I know you practically live here, but you really should think again about having packages delivered here. You're just lucky I snapped this up before Mrs. Jensen found it. She would have thrown it out in a heartbeat." She held the box out to him.

"What are you prattling on about?" He put the journals down next to the worn computer bag. His eyebrows drew together and his brow furrowed with curiosity as he looked at the box in her hands but made no move to take it from her.

"I take it you haven't suddenly developed an interest in online shopping," Sarah quipped. "Why don't you just open it already?" She placed the box on the table and took the seat across from the one John had left pulled out earlier.

"I'm not opening that," John objected. "I don't know what's inside. What if it's a bomb or something?"

"If it was a bomb, I think it would've gone off when I shook it a few minutes ago."

John looked up at Sarah with an expression of mock horror.

"Oh, come on. I was curious. And it didn't explode so that's a plus. It feels too heavy and solid to be something breakable." John still hesitated so Sarah burst out, "Just open it before Mrs. Jensen notices I'm not at the desk."

John picked up the package but continued to delay, turning it around to examine it in more detail. His name, John Daniels, was printed clearly across the top along with the address for the library. There was no return address of any kind. No postage. No postmark.

"Who dropped this off?" he asked, examining all six sides of the box, in vain, for a shipping bar code.

"Don't look at me. It was sitting on the desk when I came in. I could ask Lynda. She was on the main desk before I came in for the day. Mrs. Jensen's policy for incoming packages is pretty strict, surprise surprise. There should be a copy of a receipt somewhere." But Sarah didn't make any move to go look for one. She wanted to see what the package contained.

John placed the box on his lap, pulled out his key ring, and used the sharp contours of his house key to cut through the sealing tape. He opened the lid. Inside was a small, unfamiliar device, which he placed on the table. He and Sarah took a moment to sit back and look at it. Both reached out to touch it but pulled back before actually making contact. It was smaller than the box made it appear initially. Rectangular, it seemed to be some sort of electronic device.

"What is it?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know," John answered, finally picking it up and turning it over in his hands. "A new kind of smart phone maybe? But there's no keypad. Of course, it could be a touch screen. Might be an MP3 player? Doesn't say anywhere on it what it is."

"Where was it made?"

"Doesn't say. No 'Made in China' or 'Assembled in Taiwan.' Not even one of those 'Designed in California' deals. Wonder where it came from."

"You don't have any idea who would have sent it to you?" Sarah was taken aback by the fact that John was so clearly in the dark about the package's origin and contents.

"No. I mean, my father might have left it to me, but I thought I already got everything from his estate after he died. There's no note. No instructions. If it was from him, there would have to be something about it from his lawyer."

"Doesn't seem like anything your foster families would send," Sarah observed.

"Not unless it turns on and asks me for money," John quipped. "Something tells me that's not going to happen."

"Well, turn it on and find out." Sarah reached over and poked at a button but nothing happened. She tried another but still no change. "Maybe it needs batteries."

"Nowhere I can see to put them." John pushed the same button Sarah had just touched but this time the device began to make a slight hum. What he'd thought was durable plastic that protected the gadget's delicate inner workings was actually a durable screen and it was warming up. "I guess it doesn't need any."

Before John could push any other buttons or find a menu screen, a video began to play. John and Sarah looked at each other briefly and shifted their bodies to keep the screen shielded from anyone who might pass by.

They saw a woman with dark, curly hair lying on a filthy mattress in what appeared to be a dank basement. Dampness, mold, and stains spotted the concrete walls. Her clothes had the stiff, grimy appearance that goes hand in hand with having been worn for several consecutive days. Though she slept, the marks of exhaustion and fear lined what they could see of her face.

There was a noise from above her, a door scraping open across a floor and the resounding click of a lock sliding back into place. The woman's head jerked at the noise. Her hair fell away from her face and they could see a rag had been used to gag her. The way she struggled to get herself sitting upright revealed her wrists had been bound behind her. She'd fought to free her hands, and her arms from the elbows down bore the bruises, scratches, and painful red chaffing, all to no avail. There were other bruises on her face, neck, and legs, in various hues of purple, green, and yellow. Some areas were still swollen from the undeniable beating she'd received.

"Turn it off," Sarah said quietly looking up at John. He tried hitting the button that seemed to have turned the thing on to begin with, but nothing happened. He hit it again and tried a few of the other buttons as well. "Please, make it stop," Sarah begged, but there didn't seem to be anything John could do. He shrugged, helpless to turn it off. The video continued.

Whimpering around her gag, the woman managed to make it to her knees before scuttling across the mattress, as far into the corner as she could get, cowering as a short but lean figure appeared. John and Sarah could only see the man's back as he slowly approached the terrified woman. "I told you we'd figure it out eventually," he said quietly but with a menacing playfulness that had the woman shaking her head as tears streamed down her cheeks and were absorbed by the fabric that was gagging her. Without taking his attention from her for an instant, the man continued with his taunting tone. "You know, if you'd just been honest from the start, we might have been able to avoid all this unpleasantness. It's the fact that you made us run around that has them upstairs wanting more than just your blood. Oh, I doubt they would have let you live," he chuckled. "They're not that forgiving. But they're not above pity either. They would have made it quick. Not anymore though." They couldn't see his face, but they heard the twisted smile in his voice as he said the last part.

The woman cried and tried to plead, but the gag muffled her appeals for mercy as the man moved in closer. Sarah closed her eyes even though the angle of the man's body visibly concealed what he was doing. The woman's cries couldn't be blocked. A few moments in, the gag must have fallen from her mouth or the man had removed it because the cries got sharper and louder until they turned into screams of pain and fear. John couldn't pull his eyes away from the screen, and tears began to pool when the woman's screams were suddenly cut off to a low gurgling noise.

Sarah's eyes peeked open again just as the man moved away from the woman. She lay curled in on herself, her head bent to the mattress and her curly hair hiding what exactly had been done to her that inspired such pitiful and painful sounds. Quite a bit of blood had soaked into the corner of the mattress and a small pool began to appear on the floor underneath as well. There were a few brief spasms in the muscles of her arms and back before she went completely still. John exhaled a small sigh while Sarah gasped, realizing the unknown woman was dead. The device powered down as the video came to an end.

John looked at Sarah but she couldn't bring her eyes up to meet his. She kept staring in shock at the rectangle in his hands that had displayed the scene of horror. When Sarah did glance up, she looked past John to a patron wearing a disgruntled expression and speaking in whispers with Mrs. Jensen. Her boss reached out a placating hand to the complaining man and nodded reassurances. As the man walked off, Mrs. Jensen's understanding smile disappeared, hardening to a glare as she looked at Sarah and John. The harsh rap of her shoes as she crossed the tile floor echoed like gunshots.

"I don't know what the two of you think you're doing," Mrs. Jensen began, her voice dancing along the line between a whisper and a scream. "But whatever it is it stops now. If you want to watch a horror movie or whatever it was making that racket, do it somewhere else. Just because you can pull things like that up on your computer or phone or whatever, doesn't mean I will allow it. Not when it disturbs everyone else in the library. So put it away or get out. I won't ask a second time, Mr. Daniels, or you will have to find someone else's document scanner to use. And as for you Miss Parrish, I don't care what kind of standing your grandmother has with the board, I will make sure you're disciplined."

The outburst from Mrs. Jensen snapped the pair out of their reverie. John scrambled to gather his things back into his computer bag. Sarah mumbled apologies to her superior and straightened the pile of periodicals John had knocked over in his haste. Mrs. Jensen glowered, keeping her eyes on them as she turned and walked away. John lifted his computer bag over his shoulder and put the device into the pocket of his coat. The simple box the contraption had arrived in lay on the floor, kicked under the table next to the handwritten list of articles requested by Professor Lucas.

Sarah followed John as he headed back through the stacks and out of the library, forgetting her own jacket on the back of the chair at the main circulation desk.

###  Chapter Two

"Where are you going?" Sarah called after John, whose longer legs carried him down the sidewalk faster than hers managed in her heeled boots.

John stopped suddenly, which gave Sarah an opportunity to catch up. "I don't know." He realized he was walking in the direction of home but that it was the opposite way from where he'd been able to find a parking space.

"My apartment's just two blocks away. Come on." She nodded her head toward a side street and started walking. John couldn't think of a reason not to, so he followed. They walked in silence. When a neighbor attempted to start up a conversation on the stairs, Sarah responded mutely with a curt nod of acknowledgment.

In her apartment, Sarah put her keys down on a little decorative table by the door and headed straight for the kitchen. John put his computer bag on the floor beside a table in the middle of the apartment's main room and watched as Sarah rummaged through a cabinet. "What?" he started to ask but didn't want to sound judgmental, so he stopped before the question escaped.

"Huh?" she asked, emerging from her search with a can of ginger ale. Popping the top, she poured the lukewarm soda into a glass from the drying rack next to the sink. She gulped at the bubbly drink, pausing for it to settle the queasy feeling in her stomach. She breathed through her mouth while she carried both the glass and can over to the table and sat across from where John was standing. Wordlessly, she poured the rest of the can's contents into the glass. "Sorry. I couldn't shake the feeling I might be sick. Can I get you anything?"

John shook his head and dropped into the only other chair at the meager table.

Unwilling to let the silence persist, Sarah asked, "So, what was that anyway? Is someone playing a sick trick on you? I mean, that video, it can't be real. Right? Who would do something like that and film it?"

John set the device down on the table between them and pushed a few buttons randomly. It turned on with an eager whizzing noise. "Well, you seem to be working better now," John addressed the contraption. "What are you?"

Text appeared on the screen, taking John and Sarah both aback for a moment. Hello John Daniels. I am GEE. Please verify your identity.

"How am I supposed to do that? Show my license?" John asked, trying to say it with a laugh but the unsettled look in Sarah's eyes was too much a mirror of his own and the laugh became a desperate attempt to catch his breath.

"This has to be a joke," Sarah tried to reassure him. "What other explanation is there? Someone made this and programmed it to do a few things that would freak you out. Someone with a sick, twisted sense of humor 'cause this is anything but funny."

More text appeared. Your license is insufficient. Please place your thumb on the screen so that I may perform a scan. I assure you, I am not a joke. I know several but avoid them in general. I find that people willfully misconstrue my meaning enough without adding my sense of humor to the mix.

Sarah's eyebrows looked like they were going to jump right off her forehead. John shrugged and placed the pad of his thumb against the screen. A glowing blue bar appeared and scanned the short length of the screen. Just before it vanished, John felt a sharp pain in his finger. He yanked his finger away and examined it. A small spot of blood began to bead on the surface, so John stuck the finger in his mouth. When he looked back at the screen, he could not find evidence of anything sharp or any spot where something could have emerged to prick his finger. The surface was smooth.

Sorry about that. I know you hate needles. Only two more steps for verification to be completed. Please lean in and keep your eye open for a retinal scan.

"After what you just pulled?" John mumbled with his thumb still in his mouth.

"Here, let me get you a bandage," Sarah offered. She needed an excuse to leave the room for a moment. Downing the rest of her ginger ale as she walked, she left the glass on the kitchen counter and headed for the bathroom. She no longer felt like she might vomit, but there was still an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach that refused to dissipate.

I apologized. Please lean in and keep your eye open for a retinal scan.

John sighed but complied. A similar blue light scanned his eye. It wasn't exactly blinding, but it was hardly comfortable and left spots that lingered in his vision for a few minutes after.

You've reached the last step. Please announce your full name for vocal verification.

"John Daniels," he said in a raised, measured tone. Sarah returned and handed him a Band-Aid along with a small, flat tube of antibiotic ointment.

Verification process complete.

"Well, that's a relief," John sarcastically responded while bandaging his thumb. "So, why no need for verification earlier? Talk about bad first impressions. Why'd you have to start off with that nightmare?"

I showed you what you needed to see.

"Well, I disagree. Why would I need to see something like that?"

To do what needs to be done.

"Are you suggesting that what happened on that video was real?"

"How can it suggest anything?" Sarah asked picking the device up and looking it over. "It's a... thing."

"Can you show us again? There has to be a way to prove the video is just lifted from an obscure horror movie or something."

The image of the woman lying on the dirty mattress appeared again. Sarah stood up and gathered the wrapper and antibiotic cream. "I can't watch that again. As it is, I'll be hearing those screams when I try to get to sleep tonight." She headed for the bathroom and closed the door behind her to block the sound, leaving John alone with the video playing the anonymous woman's murder.

When the video reached the point where the woman's gag fell out and her cries turned to screams, John said, "I don't think I can listen to this again." The audio went silent and he was left solely with the horrendous mute images of brutality. The video ended but the final frame of the woman's crumpled body remained static on the screen. The name "Jessica Bailey" appeared on the screen alongside a brief string of numbers.

"Sarah," he called. She had returned from the bathroom when the sound died away and was standing in the doorway, waiting for the video to end. She walked to where he was sitting, keeping John between her and the device displaying the image of the dead woman. "What do you make of these numbers?"

"Bailey," she whispered. "Jessica Bailey." Sarah continued mumbling the name to herself, tapping the back of John's chair with the tips of her polished fingernails, a nervous habit of hers that occasionally bugged him, mostly because it indicated her mind was elsewhere and left him feeling like an intruder.

"They can't be a phone number. Too many digits, and they're not grouped the right way. Maybe a combination to something." But John knew he was talking to himself. Sarah was lost in her own mind as she crossed the room to retrieve her laptop from the drawer of an end table next to the sofa. John jotted down the string of numbers on the palm of his hand before joining Sarah on the sofa.

"Here," she declared with hollow triumph. "I knew the name sounded familiar. They interviewed her aunt on the news last night. Jessica Bailey has been missing for the last six days." Sarah handed the laptop to John so he could read through the short article and watch the interview on the local news' web page.

John clicked back to the previous page of web results and filtered for the news stories. Several small articles about the young woman's disappearance had appeared in the last week. Prior to that, her name appeared several times in an obscure blog written by a small-time court reporter. Jessica Bailey had testified as a character witness for her boyfriend of several years when he was charged for dealing drugs. She was identified in a photo taken outside the local courthouse a year or so before that for another trial; that time it had been the boyfriend who testified as a witness. Going further back, John found her name on a list of graduates from the high school he had attended (though it was years after he'd matriculated) as well as in several accounts of school events during her four years there. A photo of her with some friends at a recent alumni event matched the image distributed by the various news organizations in the wake of her disappearance. John remembered finding an invitation to the same gathering at his alma mater in the mail a few months back. He'd tossed it unceremoniously in the trash when he found out that Sarah had decided not to go either.

"She's only twenty-four," he said quietly. He put the laptop down on the coffee table in front of them with the browser open to the young woman's smiling photo.

"She's real," Sarah said in disbelief. "It's clearly her in that video. She's... not in the best condition, but she definitely looks like the woman in these pictures."

"If she's real, then who shot the video? The angle doesn't change, there's no shaking, they don't acknowledge that there's a camera there," John rambled. "It doesn't exactly make sense for whoever it is that killed her, if they really did kill her, to film it. They're smart enough that no one's found her in the last few days; I doubt they would knowingly create the evidence that would turn any case against them into a slam-dunk. And why would anyone give something like this to me? What can I do about it?"

Sarah didn't respond right away. Her gaze was fixed on the woman's smiling face, no trace of the terror that was the woman's most distinguishing feature in the video. Sarah's arms were rigid against the sides of her body, and she'd been sitting on her hands long enough to lose some of the feeling in her fingers.

John wanted to reach out and wrap an arm around Sarah's shoulders, but the tension of her position radiated out from her in a discouraging way. Instead, he stood and crossed his arms, glaring at the unsolicited device that had done more than just disrupt his morning. His heart went out to Jessica Bailey, though it was probably too late for her. The aunt that had reported her missing had sounded so optimistic in the short interview filmed on her weather-beaten front porch the previous afternoon. John was all too familiar with the intoxicating effect of hope. Of course, it was frequently followed by the two-handed choking grasp of fear and doubt. He was familiar with that too, and torn between which he preferred – the tantalizing and terrifying possibilities of not knowing, or the calm (some would say numb) resolve that could only come from having answers, good or bad.

John closed his eyes as the memories of Mia's face began to rise and mix with images from the video. The woman's cries blended into echoes of Mia's squealing, childish laughter. There was a pain in John's chest that deepened with each breath. He opened his eyes again and searched for something to focus on. The device on the table had shut off and sat patiently waiting. Concentrating on the blank screen, John did what he always did when the thought of Mia led to pain in his chest: he prayed. Beginning with the prayers he had learned kneeling beside his mother in church as she lit candles for Mia, he moved on to devotions of his own creation that calmed his breathing and converted the hollow ache into a burning desire for action.

"You okay?" Sarah asked. She'd broken out of her own trance and left the sofa. John realized that her hand was on his back, rubbing at the tension running through his shoulders.

"No, but I will be," he offered with an appreciative smile.

"I think you should give Kiel a call," she suggested. "He might be able to help figure out what to do."

John nodded his agreement and sighed when Sarah removed her hand from his back to go put on a pot of coffee in the kitchen. The warmth from her hand lingered on his back before it merged with the fire in his chest, distributing the heat through his body.

###  Chapter Three

"Lieutenant Samuels speaking."

"Hey Kiel, it's John."

"Johnny Boy, how've you been?" John could hear Kiel's voice relax.

"Honestly, I've been better. You?"

"Same as always. Burning the candle at both ends. Some guys just got temporarily reassigned and Jim's not back from vacation for another few days, so I've been working extra hours all week. But I think I've finally mastered that whole sleeping-with-your-eyes-open thing. The tricky part is making sure you look busy enough so no one will bother you. Still need to work on that."

"And you always wondered why I'd rather do research and investigation independently rather than become a cop or detective. Listen, I had something I wanted to tell you." John hesitated, unsure how to explain without his friend laughing at him or thinking he'd gone crazy.

"Not the hiking and fishing thing again," Kiel said in a put-on exasperated voice. "I don't know how many times I've told you, I'm not the biggest outdoors guy. I like being a city cop. And the closest I like to get to fish is once a month when I splurge and order sushi."

"No, it's not about camping in the woods," John laughed. He'd mentioned the idea once, and Kiel brought it up in every conversation since. "It's actually more of a... business call. I think I have some information on that girl who's gone missing. Jessica Bailey."

"What about her? Have you seen her?" Kiel's laid-back tone was gone, replaced with the official voice he used for making official statements and interrogating suspects. It caught John off guard.

"Not exactly." John hated talking over the phone. He'd much rather talk to Kiel one-on-one where he could adjust his delivery based on Kiel's expression. Knowing him as long as John had, he could see right through Kiel's incredible professional poker face.

"What the hell does that mean? Either you've seen her or you haven't."

"Not in person. Look, it's really hard to explain. When does your shift end? Maybe we can grab a beer or something after work."

"If you have information about the girl's disappearance, you should come down to the station and make a formal report."

"That's probably better anyway," John admitted with relief. "The information... Well, it's something you have to see to believe."

"Dammit, John. You know I hate it when you get all cryptic." Kiel was struggling not to lose the harsh edge to his voice. Kiel prided himself on his ability to separate personal feelings from his professional duty, but when it came to John he had a bad habit of blurring that line.

"You know I hate when you try to throw the rule book at me," John teased back.

"Just... get your ass down here, okay?"

"We'll be right there."

"We?" And the playfulness was back. John knew Kiel had to be wearing his sly, wink-wink face even though it was wasted in his absence. Kiel was always pushing John about his relationship with Sarah. It was like having a caring, embarrassing, and annoying older brother. John knew he would have taunted and been protective of Mia in the same way when she started taking an interest in boys.

"I'm bringing Sarah. She can back me up." He glanced over his shoulder and saw Sarah watching him with her steaming coffee mug clasped in her hands.

"When are you gonna get around to asking her out?"

"When you quit bringing it up," John hissed, turning away from Sarah so she wouldn't see him blush. "We'll be right there." He hung up and hoped irrationally that Sarah hadn't heard Kiel's chuckling, which seemed to echo suggestively in his ears. Yup, just like an annoying older brother who doesn't know when to quit.

"Let me just finish this and I'll grab my coat," Sarah said, gulping down the coffee as she went in search of her jacket.

John looked at the device sitting on the table. What had it called itself? The GEE. John picked it up and turned it around in his hand. It was about the size of his smart phone but curved a little.

"I think I left it at the library," Sarah said returning to the kitchen and putting her empty mug in the sink.

"What?"

"My coat. I left it at the library."

"Do you want to stop by and pick it up on the way? It's the other direction but probably won't take too long."

"I'll be fine. It's not that far. Besides," she said as she grabbed her keys from the table by the door, "it might throw Mrs. Jensen off. I can just see her shuffling around, convinced she must have just missed me." She held the door open for him with a smile.

He slipped the GEE into his pocket and led the way out of the apartment.

They didn't talk much on their way to the station. Sarah lived close enough to the library that she usually walked to work, so her car was handy and she offered to drive to the station.

"It's not worth trying to find a parking space," John said, dismissing the idea. "It's not much farther from here than the library is." Sarah nodded and they continued on in silence. When she held her arms across her chest and rubbed them, John wanted to kick himself. Maybe her offer had as much to do with sitting in a nice warm car so she wouldn't miss her coat as it did the convenience of getting to the station faster. He pulled the GEE from his pocket and shrugged off his jacket, holding it out for Sarah to take.

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"I get overheated if I walk with too many layers on," he pushed. "Just take it."

"Thanks." She didn't really put it on though, just draped it over her shoulders like a cape, refusing to put her arms through the sleeves. John rolled his eyes and let the conversation lapse into silence.

Turning the corner, John saw the station in the distance, frozen in time at the end of a row of ever-changing shops. The windows might need a bit of a cleaning, but otherwise it was exactly the way he remembered, though he hadn't stopped by in ages.

He had avoided stopping by in those first six years after his mother's death. He told himself he didn't need to anymore. The way his mother had said Mia's name and smiled in her final moments, he had accepted that his little sister was dead. But giving up on the police's stalled investigation didn't mean there weren't answers out there. And then, something about that day, finding himself at that church again, he hadn't been able to keep his feet from finding their way to the station. Over the years, John had become convinced that it was fate, or rather God's will, at play that day. It was, after all, the day he'd met then Sergeant Kiel Samuels, now Lieutenant Samuels, his closest friend apart from Sarah.

Thinking back, John realized he hadn't visited the station since the day he met Kiel nearly a decade earlier. Of course, it hardly felt like a first meeting when John walked through the doors that day. Kiel recognized him immediately, a fact that John still found unsettling if he thought about it too long. John had paused inside the doors, searching for any familiar faces. No one even seemed to notice him standing there looking around, no one except Sergeant Samuels that is. He stared at John for a few moments, rummaged around on his desk for a file, tore it open, and looked back and forth between John and the file about six times.

Finally a desk clerk walking by had stopped and asked John if he was looking for anyone in particular. As John searched his memory for the name of the officer his mother had always asked for, Kiel interrupted and introduced himself, asking John if he'd like to get a coffee and go over the case. Unsure, John had agreed.

Kiel began with a longer personal introduction and how he'd become acquainted with Mia's case. He had been finishing up at the academy when she disappeared; but when he first landed a job at the station he trained under one of the lead investigators, who mentioned Mia's stalled case from time to time. Kiel became fascinated with the stalled investigation. He heard about how, for the first two or three years, John's mother brought him to the station once a week after lighting a candle for Mia at the nearby church. Every cop had one, a case that just got under the skin and bloomed into a rash of obsession. That Mia became that case for Kiel was odd, since he'd played no part in the initial investigation. Given that he was working in the station at the time, Kiel was surprised their paths hadn't crossed when John and his mother were still making their weekly visits.

It was after they'd been speaking for a while that Kiel admitted to John he hadn't been able to find anything new in Mia's case since taking it up as a hobby; but he hoped that working together, they might discover a new approach to try. Maybe there was something John remembered that hadn't made sense when he was younger. Everything they thought of became dead ends after a little investigation, and even combining their brainpower they eventually ran out of ideas. But through their shared obsession, their friendship grew. Kiel had encouraged and helped John when he turned his attention from Mia's case to finding his biological father, and Kiel had been there for him when his father died. Having seen what John was capable of when it came to Mia's case, whenever Kiel got stuck on a case he would talk it through with John – using hypotheticals and parallels, naturally.

During college, John managed to work a number of criminology and criminal justice courses into his schedule, but he had shrugged off Kiel's suggestion that he would make a decent detective. Instead, John chose to turn his investigative and problem-solving mind toward being a professional research assistant, which came with an attractive level of independence and a flexible schedule. His choice also meant that he did a lot of jobs for academically inclined individuals, and he frequently ended up at the same library where Sarah and her library sciences degree found themselves.

"You coming?" Sarah asked, snapping him out of his reverie. She was holding the front of his jacket closed and the empty sleeves danced in the light but chilly breeze. They'd reached the front of the building where he had apparently just stopped on the sidewalk.

John breathed deeply and took a step forward. "Of course," he said lightly, trying to downplay his hesitation. Sarah watched him push open the heavy door and hold it for her. He smiled and made a sweeping bow to usher her through.

###  Chapter Four

"He's in his office," the rookie behind the front desk joked, pointing at a cubicle on the far side of the room.

"Thanks." John led the way and knocked on the flimsy wall before poking his head into the cramped and cluttered space.

Kiel was searching through several piles of papers on his desk. They may have started out as neat stacks, but as he entered his third time through, he was less careful about putting the rejected papers back tidily.

"Whatcha looking for?" John asked.

Kiel looked up, frustration written across his face. "Just a memo with a phone number I need."

Sarah moved over beside Kiel and started to fix the papers back into uniform stacks. John noticed a few pages that had fallen to the floor and worked their way under the desk. As fast as Sarah was straightening Kiel's desk, he disassembled her work in his frenzied search. John retrieved the strays from under the desk and held them out for Kiel to take.

"Oh, yeah. There it is. What're you... Right. Um... Here, follow me." With the memo in his hand, Kiel led the way through the maze of partitioned desks in the room's open center. There were a few inquisitive looks thrown their way. Kiel managed to disparage most of them with a simple nod or a polite "hey" tossed out. Whispers of speculation rippled in their wake. They finally reached a deserted break room, filled with the smell of burnt coffee. The dregs of the last batch sat on the hot plate overheating, but no one wanted to be the one to clean it and make a fresh pot. The coffee pot wasn't the only thing in the room that could use the once-over with a cloth or sponge.

"Charming," John muttered as he pulled out a chair from the plain but sturdy table. The chair's legs, much like the soles of his shoes, stuck to the floor.

"I know, it's not the nicest setup but it does have a door." Kiel illustrated this benefit by closing and locking it for good measure. He joined Sarah and John at the table, pulling out a notepad. "So, you've got information on the disappearance of Jessica Bailey?"

"Like I told you over the phone, it's hard to explain." John placed the GEE on the table in front of him.

"What's that?" Kiel asked, confused.

"It's called a GEE. Or the GEE. I'm not sure what it stands for, if anything."

"Is it a phone? It's not a model I'm familiar with." Kiel picked it up and turned it around to examine it from every angle. "And I'm not sure I understand what it has to do with the Jessica Bailey case."

John took the GEE back and set it on the table again. "It's not a phone. I'm not sure who sent it to me or where it came from. It was just waiting for me when I got to the library this morning."

"I'm gonna check with Lynda later to see if she saw who dropped it off," Sarah interjected.

"Anyway, when I got it open, it just turned itself on and showed us a video of Jessica Bailey."

"So whoever sent this to you has Jessica Bailey? But you don't know who that is?" Kiel's expression was a blend of confusion and skepticism.

"I don't know. Maybe," John admitted. "It wouldn't make sense for the guys who have her to send evidence like this so it might be from someone else, but I still don't know who, or why they'd send it to me. I just know what we saw. And it showed us the video not once but twice."

"And the second time it gave her name," Sarah explained. "I thought it sounded familiar, so I looked it up and found the interview with her aunt."

"Well, maybe there's something in the video we can use to find her." Kiel hedged. "Can you pull it up?"

"I'll try," John said, but before he could fiddle with it, the GEE turned itself on and the first frames of the video began to play. "I hope the volume is low this time." A little volume bar appeared at the bottom of the image and the percentage dropped from eighty to forty-five percent as they watched. Sarah stood up as they heard the door scrape open. Silently, she crossed the room and began cleaning the disgusting coffee pot. "When I said it was a video of Jessica Bailey," John elaborated. "I probably should have been more specific. It's a video of her being murdered."

Kiel's eyebrows jumped in surprise and doubt, but that was the moment Jessica began to scream. His gaze latched onto the video. As the final frame froze, the name and numbers appeared across the screen again, just as they had at Sarah's apartment. Sarah had finished washing out the pot, and a fresh batch of coffee was percolating. The room's three occupants settled into silence so that the sound of the coffee machine practically echoed off the sticky floors and grimy walls.

Sarah was the first to break the tension. "Like I said earlier, we looked up her name and saw the stories about her disappearance. It looked too much like her to be just coincidence so we thought we should talk to you."

"There were other articles, older articles, that mentioned her as well," John added, "but they didn't seem too relevant. Just a few things about her boyfriend's past legal troubles."

Kiel made a subtle motion to quiet them on the subject. He stood and went to the fresh pot of coffee. John thought he might ask for a cup himself but Kiel took the full carafe, moved to the sink, and dumped it down the drain. Sarah made a small squeak of protest, but Kiel repeated his silencing gesture. He took the bag of grounds and dumped the rest in the trash, followed by the empty packaging. Sarah's eyes widened in disgust at the wastefulness, but John just shrugged when she looked at him for agreement. The bag of grounds had been nearly gone so the garbage bin barely received a dusting.

"Follow me," Kiel said in a low voice, opening the door. The others followed him back to the area of open desks where several officers of varying ranks looked up, welcoming any distraction from tedious paperwork. "No coffee left in the break room," Kiel said, loud enough for a few guys to hear but not loud enough to sound like an official announcement. "We're heading out to get more. It shouldn't take long." A few nodded but most just ducked their heads and returned to work.

Exiting the building, John expected they'd take a squad car, since Kiel was still on the clock, but he led them to his personal car. Once inside, John and Sarah sat back to wait for Kiel to explain his nosedive into stealth mode. They didn't have to wait long. As soon as he pulled into traffic he started talking and didn't stop until after they'd passed a few more-than-adequate coffee shops.

"Sorry about that," said Kiel. "I just don't feel right talking about this in a squad car. They're not bugged or anything, but knowing I really shouldn't say anything to you, I just can't do it.

"To start with, Jessica Bailey is more than just a girl who's gone missing. Those mentions of her boyfriend and his small-time drug dealings, they were just the beginning. Sometime after he got off with probation his first time around, the two of them overheard some of the bigger details of his boss's boss's operation and plans for expansion. When the boyfriend got busted again, Jessica tried to talk him into dealing with the DA to reduce his sentence, but he wouldn't have any of it and went away for a few years. I guess without the boyfriend around, she started getting anxious about what she knew and what it might mean for her personal safety.

"Something freaked her out one day and she contacted the station. She thought that coming forward with the information would secure a place for her in the witness protection program. The guy she's got information on is pretty high on the totem pole, but the DA couldn't get the feds on board. They have other dealers they want more and, while this guy's been violent in the past, he hasn't crossed the line where he's become an interest to them. The DA did manage to get her a good deal at a fresh start in another area for agreeing to testify, just not to the same extent witness protection can provide.

"I heard she walked out when they told her that but came back later the same day to agree to the deal. They were pretty sure no one knew she'd said anything, so they figured she'd be safe until charges were filed against the guy. It was going to be a while before they had enough to go to trial; the DA had started building a case and the information she provided put them in a much better position. They figured that once they finally arraigned him they could afford to put a protective detail on her, but so far out they couldn't swing it with the people who had to sign off on it. They were also worried someone might see something and catch on. Instead, they checked in with her periodically.

"Then her aunt showed up to report her missing the day after they made the arrest. He'd made bail and, based on that video, it looks like he and his buddies have been looking into who could have snitched and they figured out it was her."

Kiel stopped talking long enough to pull into the drive-through of a coffee shop not five blocks from the station. Too caught up in what Kiel had been saying, John couldn't remember the no doubt lengthy and roundabout route that had taken them there. It seemed that hours had passed, but when he looked at the clock it hadn't even been twenty minutes.

Suddenly there was a large box of assorted doughnuts in his lap and two Javas-in-a-Box were on the floor warming his feet. They hadn't even been gone long enough for someone else to take the spot Kiel had left vacant in the precinct lot.

"Those numbers at the end of the video," Sarah said. "They're geographical coordinates, aren't they?" They paused before getting out of the car, for some reason reluctant to go back in the building.

Kiel cleared his throat before answering. "I think so."

Sarah just nodded. John ran his finger along the edge of the GEE in his pocket. None of them was ready to bring up what they all knew they would find if they decided to look for those coordinates.

###  Chapter Five

"My shift is over in a few hours," Kiel said as he balanced the box of doughnuts in one arm and struggled to get both coffee boxes into the other hand. "I'll meet up with you then."

"We can head to my place," John offered. "It's a little more... we're less likely to be overheard," he added, directing it at Sarah. He didn't want her to think there was anything wrong with her apartment.

"That's one of the benefits of a house over an apartment, I guess," Sarah replied. John didn't know what to make of her tone so he turned back to Kiel, who was making very slow progress back inside. Taking one Java-in-a-Box from Kiel, he advanced and held the doors open as well. They deposited the tasty treats on the slightly sticky break-room table and John headed out, telling Kiel he'd be sure to have pizza waiting.

Sarah was waiting out front and John smiled when he saw that she had finally caved and put her arms through the sleeves of his jacket. She turned as he approached and they fell into step, headed back toward the library. They slowed as their destination's stone steps appeared around a corner. Sarah pulled John's jacket off and held it out for him to take, which he did, folding it over his arm.

"I hope you don't get in too much trouble with Mrs. Jensen for being gone so long," John said, breaking the silence that had gotten louder with each step.

"I'll think of something," Sarah assured him, hurrying into the welcoming warmth of the building. She headed for her seat behind the desk and immediately tackled the mountain of books that needed to be checked back into the computer system. Mrs. Jensen hadn't adjusted to the latest updates yet and preferred to let someone else go through the hassle of dealing with the technical part.

Sarah gave John a wink as he snuck past the circulation desk and headed back toward his favorite corner, the same one he'd abandoned only a few hours earlier. He passed by Mrs. Jensen on his way through the hall. He paused at the entranceway to the wing he was looking for and glanced back over his shoulder, watching as Mrs. Jensen spotted Sarah and went in for the attack.

"Where did you disappear to? I've been looking for you everywhere. You can't just abandon your position whenever you feel like it."

"I stepped out for a few minutes during my lunch break to check on my grandmother," Sarah said with a placating expression on her face. "She's been fighting off a cold lately and hates to ask for help. She's good about her regular medications, but when you add the extra things she takes for her cold symptoms she can get a little confused. She won't admit it, though. Holding on to her independence with both hands, that one. I swear, if it weren't for the fact that she has so much trouble with the stairs, she'd still be trying to work here." Sarah's tone was friendly and conspiratorial, but she made sure to remind Mrs. Jensen of the pull she wielded because of her grandmother. "She asks about everyone constantly. Other than that, though, I've been around, helping people find things, checking things back in, and restacking books. We must have just kept missing each other." Sarah smiled innocently. "It's been one of those days, I guess."

Mrs. Jensen still wasn't happy with Sarah, but she backed down from her offensive position. Sarah briefly looked past Mrs. Jensen and caught John's eye. She gave him a small smile and went back to answering her supervisor's questions with the most pleasant and positive attitude she could muster. John continued on to his regular corner.

The journals he'd left out with the articles for Professor Lucas had been put away after they left, so John placed his computer bag and coat at the table and headed into the stacks to find them again. While searching the shelves, he remembered the title of the last article on his list. Adding the missing volume to his pile, John pulled out his zip drive and proceeded to the rarely used document scanners. They'd been a pet project of Sarah's and his. She had the idea one day when a particularly long line had formed behind him at the pay-by-the-page copy machine. He helped her with the proposal though the only one who really needed to be convinced was Mrs. Jensen. The rest of the board had supported the idea from the beginning, but the head librarian wanted all the T's crossed and I's dotted. She'd set up the hoops that they'd had to jump through.

Sarah found him as he was returning the scanned journals to their places on the shelves. He'd been told on numerous occasions, usually by Mrs. Jensen, not to replace the materials he used, that one of the staff would do it, but he hated leaving such a pile of work for Sarah, even if she was being paid to do it. She had a pile of books and journals of her own to return, though many of them belonged in another section of shelves. "Have you done it yet?" she asked him quietly.

"Done what?"

"Looked them up."

"There's more than enough time to figure out where those coordinates will lead us. I figured I should get some of the work done that I actually came here this morning to do. Oh, and I remembered the name of that last article," he added, aiming at a note of triumph but falling short.

"Do you really think that you'll find her body there?" Sarah asked, finally bringing up their unspoken fear.

"What else could we find?" John countered. His arms empty, he moved back to the table where his things marked his claim to the area. Sarah put the rest of her pile of books down. John pulled out his laptop and, referring to the numbers he'd written on his hand earlier, looked up the location the GEE had provided. When she saw the surprise in his reaction, Sarah leaned in over his shoulder to see for herself.

"That's a ways out. Are you honestly considering going out there tonight?"

"Of course. Based on what Kiel was saying, the DA's going to want to find this girl as soon as possible."

"But I was talking about you," Sarah emphasized. "Give the information to Kiel and let him go with a few other officers. The people who did that to her, who hurt her like that... I just don't think it's the kind of thing that you should be getting mixed up in. They are dangerous. Look at what they did to Jessica Bailey. What if they somehow found out you were the one who gave this information to the cops? What do you think they would do to you?"

"But I still don't know what this thing is or where it came from. Kiel saw what it can do, but he can't just take it to his colleagues and expect them to trust it. I don't know that Kiel would have jumped on the information so quickly if he weren't being pressured from his bosses. They sound pretty desperate to get information on her, regardless of where it comes from. He might even be one of the only ones who knows the full extent of her involvement. It sounded like they were trying to keep it quiet on their end too, minimize any leaks."

"Doesn't sound like they did a very good job," Sarah said with a little disgust in her tone. "Still, John, why are you going out there?"

He had to stop and think about it for a minute. "I guess... it's because of Mia, on some level. I still want answers. I think I'll be able to find answers tonight. Maybe not about Mia, but answers for someone, answers for Jessica Bailey's aunt. Besides, this device, the GEE or whatever it is, it came to me. It showed me the video and it gave me the coordinates. I think I have to go, I have to see this through."

Sarah nodded, understanding but worried. "Just... be safe, okay?"

"I promise," he said, touched by her concern. "And I guess that means you're not planning on joining us tonight."

"No," she responded quickly, looking down at her hands. "That video... I can't... No." John nodded that he understood. "The temperature," Sarah continued, pushing past the issue, "is supposed to drop a bit tonight before that warm front comes through tomorrow afternoon, so it's going to be pretty chilly. And it looks like it'll be quite the hike." She pointed at the rugged topography for the area on the map John had pulled up. "It looks... desolate."

"Looks like the perfect place to dump a body," John conceded. "No one around for miles, lots of vegetation."

"Probably more than a few hungry animals," Sarah added.

John shuddered. "Thanks for reminding me of that."

"One more reason not to go," Sarah said under her breath.

"I should head home and dig out the supplies we're going to need. I guess Kiel and I will be going on that camping trip after all." Once again, he packed up his things.

Sarah took up her stack of books again. "Like I said, be careful," she reminded. "And keep me posted." Then, Sarah headed off to continue with her work as John threw the computer bag over his shoulder and slipped the GEE into his pocket.

###  Chapter Six

John surveyed the pile of supplies he had stacked on the table. The first-aid kit, flashlights, snacks, and water were his. He tried to hope they had been mistaken about the video and would need the first-aid kit if and when they found Jessica Bailey. After all, they didn't know where the video came from or even if it was authentic, and the man had blocked the view of whatever it was he was doing. Maybe there was a chance she was still alive. But John couldn't get that flicker of hope to catch. That was why there was also a small shovel in the pile.

It had been several years since John's biological father had died and left him the house (along with everything in it). For the most part, John limited himself to just the rooms he'd become familiar with during the year or so they had gotten to know one another. This included most of the first floor and the master bedroom upstairs. John hadn't done more than poke his head into a few of the others before closing them up again.

After getting home that day, however, he went straight to the attic and worked his way down and through each of the rooms to see if he could find anything that might be useful. It had been a fruitful plan. As it turned out, his biological father had been a bit of a camping or survival enthusiast. John couldn't tell whether anything had ever been used or if the man had just been a collector, but there were a few different styles of tents, a couple of sleeping bags, backpacks, ropes, bungee cords, and lanterns. He even found one of those collapsible shovels used for digging latrines. John had decided to include everything in the pile, preferring to be prepared for anything.

The pizza guy was leaving just as Kiel pulled into the driveway. It was still mid-afternoon, but it felt much later given all that had happened during the day. Kiel immediately put a piece of pizza in his mouth to keep from commenting on the amount of supplies John had unearthed.

"I already looked up the coordinates, and I'm afraid they're a ways out of the city," John said, taking a slice for himself.

"How far are we talking?" The words were muffled by Kiel's latest mouthful of pizza.

"About thirty miles," John admitted.

"We need to get going if we want to get there before it gets dark." Kiel took another slice of pizza.

"It's not just the distance," John began as he swallowed the last bite of pizza. "It's in the middle of the woods."

"Are we going to be heading into the woods for a hike or are we moving there permanently?" Kiel poked at a few of the items on the table, picked up an unopened package of AA batteries, put it in his pocket and then selected and tested one of the flashlights. It glowed dimly so he tested a second one with better results.

"I just grabbed everything in the house that I found," John said, blushing slightly. He knew he'd gone a little overboard, but hunting around the house had kept him from blurring the line between searching for Jessica and searching for Mia. It made him feel like he was doing something for once instead of waiting all the time.

"We're not going to be that far away from civilization," Kiel said mostly to reassure himself. "We won't need more than just a few of these things." Taking mostly the snacks and water along with one last piece of pizza, Kiel went to get his car ready. John grabbed the shovel, a sleeping bag, and a tent; he wasn't as optimistic as Kiel seemed to be. If they ended up stuck out there for the night, John wasn't sure what accommodations they'd find. Better to be safe than sorry.

Sticking the supplies in the trunk, John climbed in next to Kiel and made sure the GEE was secure in his pocket.

"I'm afraid my GPS doesn't work with coordinates directly," Kiel admitted.

"Oh, no problem." John reached over and programmed the name of the nearest location into the GPS. "That won't bring us all the way there, but my phone has an app we can use to get us the rest of the way. I'm not sure the car could make it all the way anyhow. I don't think the road goes that far into the woods."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic." Kiel put the car into gear and pulled away from John's house.

Kiel never could tolerate a quiet car ride so he chattered away, mostly reiterating the details of the case as he had earlier in the afternoon. It reminded John of the way he himself would repeatedly list every fact, every piece of evidence there was in the days, weeks, months following Mia's disappearance. It had been a minor relief to John to discover he was not alone in such behaviors. John would have preferred to stick the radio on, but since Kiel was driving he wasn't about to complain. Besides, discussing the case at hand was more appropriate than messing up the lyrics to pop songs.

The conversation trailed off as trees began to replace buildings on either side of the road. After five minutes without sight of a single person, pet, building, or other mark of civilization, Kiel slowed the car. He began talking back and second-guessing everything the GPS advised. Though the digitized voice urged him to proceed, the paved part of the road had ended a ways back.

"Just pull off here and we can keep going on foot," John said, trying to calm the frustrated Kiel. The sun hadn't set yet, but the trees' branches worked to obscure much of the light that still shone.

"I'm not leaving my car out here in the open," Kiel said defensively. "It's not in the best shape. I'm afraid of it getting stuck out here."

"The temperature is supposed to drop. The car's not about to sink into the mud."

"Still," Kiel said, pulling a tight three-point turn and nearly running into several trees in the process, "I'd rather leave it on the actual road."

"It's your car."

It took a while to find a spot that satisfied Kiel. Ultimately, there weren't any buildings or houses nearby, so he had to settle for a sturdy looking tree with branches conveniently placed for concealing the car from view.

Kiel stood to assess his parking job. "It's fine," John reassured him. "We have to make up close to a mile and it's only going to get darker."

"I know." He grabbed a backpack and threw in a few of the lighter items, mostly snacks and spare batteries. "Let's get going."

John had a backpack all set and threw it on, pulling out his phone. "Now let's see just how accurate this new app is."

"You mean you've never tried it before?"

"Not in circumstances like these," John said defensively glancing around at the trees. "Usually there are more... distinctive landmarks around to help, like a coffee shop or gas station. I don't think it will be able to tell me that I need to look for the tree with branches shaped like a rabbit's ears."

As it turned out, the app worked rather well but the terrain was uneven. As darkness began to fall, their pace slowed. "Aren't we getting closer?" Kiel asked when they paused after about two hours in the woods.

"I think so." John spoke with hesitation. "It hasn't really updated our position in a while. I think it's because we're close?"

"What do you mean, 'a while?'" Kiel snapped. "Are you sure it's not because it's a cheap app that doesn't really work?" He took a drink and reached out for the phone. "Can I see that thing?"

"Be my guest." John handed it over rather than put up a fight. It had been a draining day and he was finally starting to feel the exhaustion.

Kiel pushed a few buttons before letting out a heavy sigh. "I think we've gone out of cell range," he concluded. "I tried restarting the app and it's not loading anymore. Can't find a signal to connect through."

"What?" John grabbed the phone back and tried a few other apps. The ones that didn't require a web connection worked fine, but the rest got stuck trying to load. He tried calling Kiel's cell phone from his but that wouldn't go through either, even with the phones only feet apart. "What about you? Do you have a signal?"

Kiel shone the flashlight toward his phone. It wasn't as high-tech as John's but it always worked well enough for Kiel. "I have maybe half a bar." He held it aloft and moved it around trying to get a stronger signal. "Can't get anything more than that. I doubt I'd reach anyone if I tried."

Both sat on the cold rough ground. They passed a bottle of water back and forth while they silently assessed the severity of their predicament. "How are we supposed to find our way back?" John asked, trying not to sound too defeated.

"And in the dark too. Man, I wish I'd grabbed those beers back at your place."

"Oh, God," John lamented. "What are we going to do?"

They heard a muffled beeping sound and looked around for the source. "Please don't tell me your phone battery is dying too," Kiel said. "We might still be able to fumble our way back into cell range where we can call for someone to look for us, but if the battery's dead..." He trailed off.

"It shouldn't be," John said checking his phone. "I had it charging while I was waiting for you. It doesn't usually drain that fast. No, it's still at sixty-seven percent. Are you sure it's not yours?"

"Not mine. And I'm pretty sure that noise is coming from you."

The beeping continued steadily. John removed his backpack and held it away from himself to see if the noise was coming from within. Then he remembered the GEE in his pocket and pulled it out. As soon as he did, the beeping stopped and the screen lit up.

"Isn't that the thing from earlier?" Kiel asked. "The thing that played the video and told you to come here?"

"Yeah. And it looks like it's going to make sure we get where we're supposed to." The display resembled the app they'd been using but with their location updated and with more detail as to how far they still had to go.

"Did you know it could do that?"

"No, but I think we should go with it. What have we got to lose?" John put his useless-in-the-woods cell phone in the backpack before slinging it over his shoulders and following the directions provided by the GEE. Kiel shook his head as he retrieved his own pack and trailed along behind John.

They could tell right away that the path provided by the mysterious device was more accurate. It turned them around and returned them to the point where the app had lost the signal, sending them astray. After that, it turned out they didn't have much farther to go before the thing started beeping again.

You have reached your intended destination, the device displayed.

"I think this is it," John declared.

Kiel began making organized passes along the forest floor with his flashlight but nothing appeared to be out of place. The ground was uneven but undisturbed. John joined in and they covered a slightly larger area, but there was nothing there.

"Could you have put in the wrong location?" Kiel asked.

"I didn't put in the location on this thing; it was already in there." Just to be sure, John checked the device against what he had written across his hand. Dirt and mud made it difficult to make out a few of the digits, but John knew it matched. The GEE continued to assure, You have reached your intended destination.

"So I guess this has just been a waste of time," Kiel said, unable to conceal the frustration in his voice.

"Shh!" John hissed. He reached out and pulled Kiel with him a short ways back from where they'd been standing, ducking behind a large tree. He flipped the switch on his flashlight so the beam vanished and whispered for Kiel to do the same.

Kiel obliged but John caught the confused look on his face just before the light went out and they were left with what little moonlight made it through the branches. As Kiel's patience was about to run out and he took a breath to say something, he heard what it was that had sent John into hiding.

"How much further d'you think?" a man asked as he lumbered loudly through the brush.

"I don't know," another responded, his voice strained. "This should be about good. Can't imagine anyone would come out this far while taking a stroll."

"Besides," a third man added. "She won't last long out here. Something will take care of her before anyone has a chance to find anything."

The three men did little to limit the amount of noise they generated, reassuring John and Kiel that their presence had gone unnoticed. Peeking around the tree's thick trunk, Kiel squinted to take in as much as he could of what the trio was up to, though he was pretty sure he already knew. Two had been carrying an awkward bundle between them while the third was loaded down with supplies that clanged against one another in his arms. He threw them to the ground when they finally settled on the spot.

"Do you think you could try to be a little louder next time?" the first man asked sarcastically.

"Like anyone could hear us out here," the offender replied. "Better get going. We don't want to be out here all night."

As they took up the shovels and started on their task, Kiel turned away and pulled out his cell phone. Doing his best to cover up the glimmer of light from the screen, he tried dialing the station but couldn't get the call to go through. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath. "What's the point of having cell phones if they always lose their signal when you actually need them?"

John shot Kiel a glare to try and remind him to keep quiet, but it failed to penetrate the darkness. The GEE in John's pocket began beeping again. It was quieter this time and, luckily, was lost amidst the sounds of shovels ringing off stones and getting stuck in roots that were strewn through the soil.

John did his best to cover the GEE with his hand and muffle the sound while examining the screen to determine why it was making so much noise. The task proved more difficult than he hoped and, without thinking, he shushed the machine. It stopped beeping and John was able to read, Contacting local authorities on the screen. In its place, a subtle ringing was only just audible. John handed it over to Kiel.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Kiel asked but John could only shrug.

"It's never done this before," he whispered. "Just talk at it, I guess."

"This is Officer Carson," a voice on the other end of the line answered. "How can I help you?" It was only loud enough for John and Kiel to hear. The three shovelers were too consumed in their task to notice, even if they had been in hearing distance.

Unsure where or if there was a speaker toward which he should direct his response, Kiel kept his voice low and requested backup be sent. It took a few minutes, many repetitions of his badge number, and the phone numbers and names of several of his colleagues at the station before he was put on hold while Officer Carson verified his story.

"Are we really so far outside the city that they don't know what I'm talking about when I mention Jessica Bailey's disappearance?" Kiel asked John, disbelief dripping from each word.

"I think they know who she is, but they're not used to dealing with this kind of case. Getting dragged into it like this wasn't something they expected. They just want to make sure they don't screw it up," John said as he tried to appease Kiel's frustrations.

"So, while they're busy covering their asses, these guys could get away?"

"They're not going to get away," John said with determination. "If they can't get anyone out here, we'll just tail them. Get their license plate numbers or something."

"Lieutenant Samuels," the voice came back. "Sorry about that. We called your station and relayed your message. They're going to send some guys over and in the meantime we've called an all-hands-on-deck situation here. We'll have a pair of cars there in a jiffy. Do you know where they would have entered the woods?"

"No clue but probably not too far from us."

John could vaguely see Kiel's body relax with the knowledge that help was on the way.

###  Chapter Seven

John tuned out the rest of Kiel's conversation regarding the logistics of meeting up with the local authorities and apprehending the three suspects. He turned his attention to the men in question and tried to assess how far they'd progressed with their task.

"Is that deep enough?" one asked.

"There's no way that's six feet," another responded.

"It doesn't have to be six feet," the third said authoritatively. "It just has to be deep enough for her to fit."

"Then let's try it," the second suggested, throwing down his shovel and moving to retrieve the awkward bundle they'd deposited a few feet off to the side. The others joined in and heaved the body into the hole.

"That should do it," the third concluded.

"What are you talking about?" the first asked derisively. "By the time we put the dirt back in, this thing will stick out like a sore thumb to anyone with two eyes."

"And who's gonna come this far out?" the third one challenged.

"I don't know. Maybe kids."

"If we put the rocks on top," the second interjected, "it won't be as noticeable. It'll just look like a little hill."

"We don't want to put too many rocks on top or the animals won't be able to do their part," the third explained. The implication behind the man's words made the hair on the back of John's neck stand on end.

"Did he just say what I think he said?" Kiel whispered in John's ear, startling him to the point where he almost fell over.

"Yeah, he did," John confirmed.

"Well, the local boys should be showing up soon," Kiel said in an attempt to reassure himself. It didn't seem to be working. They both struggled to see around the edge of the tree without calling attention to themselves. Then they heard it and so did the other three men. Sirens.

"What do you think they're up to?" the second man asked nervously.

"I don't know but I don't wanna find out either," the first said with the same level of concern as his buddy. "We should get outta here just to be safe."

"But we're not done yet," the third objected.

"I don't care," the first said harshly. "I'm getting out of here and it's my car so if you wanna get left behind, be my guest." He grabbed his shovel and headed off through the trees. The second man followed suit. The third hesitated a moment, looking down at the body in the ditch, inadequately concealed. He took a few minutes to throw some more dirt back in the hole before hurrying off after the others, muttering with some uncertainty about how they wouldn't really leave without him.

"Come on," Kiel said, patting John on the shoulder and moving off to follow the three men on their way back through the woods. Kiel paused when John hesitated next to the depression of cold, freshly overturned earth. "We can't move her now," he explained even though he knew John already understood that fact. "The crime scene guys will need to do their job or these guys could get off. Better to follow them and make sure they don't get away. And don't worry about finding this place again. I don't think that thing you've got there will let you get lost."

They moved through the woods in a far quieter manner than their prey. The sirens had been silenced but the blue and red flashing lights reflected off the tree limbs as the woods thinned out and civilization began making its presence known again. There were too many competing noises for John and Kiel to make out exactly what the three men ahead of them were saying, but the fluctuations in their volume and gestures seemed to indicate that they were growing concerned. At one point, the first man threw his shovel into the trees and grabbed at the shovels the others were carrying. They quickly chucked their shovels too.

The lights were very bright where the three men finally emerged. Several officers waited, shining their flashlights at the disheveled trio. The gravediggers tried to play it cool and headed for their car, refusing to speak first, afraid it would make them look like they had something to hide. Of course, by not acknowledging the unusual police presence, it only confirmed their status as outsiders who probably had something to hide.

"So what have the three of you been up to in the woods this late?" one of the officers asked, taking a few steps to one side and putting himself between the three men and their vehicle.

"We were just out for a hike," the third man said, aiming at an innocent tone but striking a defiant note instead.

"Really?" the officer replied, skepticism and amusement peeking through. He sounded like he could dissolve into laughter any moment. "Hiking with no gear? At this hour? You don't look like experienced hikers, but I didn't think I'd ever meet anyone dumb enough to head out empty-handed."

"Well, we got lost," the first man said a little too quickly and with too much uncertainty.

"Oh, you're a bit lost, all right," the officer responded. "But don't worry. We've got a nice warm place where you can stay while you answer a few questions for us."

"We're not going anywhere except home to get something to eat and a nice hot shower," the third man retorted. "So unless you have a reason to arrest us now, I think we'll just get out of your hair."

Kiel and John had emerged from the woods by that point, but only one of the waiting officers had shifted his flashlight to illuminate them. The trio hadn't noticed, so they were surprised to hear Kiel's voice from behind them.

"Go ahead and arrest them. At the least they can be charged with unlawful disposal of a body, though I'm sure some homicide or accessory-after-the-fact charges will be added once the crime scene unit and medical examiner have a chance to look things over and report back to the DA."

The three men fought back panic and their instincts to run when it became clear that they were tightly surrounded. They were handcuffed and herded into the idling cruisers. John hung back while Kiel had a quick conversation with the group of officers before a few headed to the cars and drove off, with the suspects, to local police headquarters. Kiel's boss and a few others from his station would meet up with everyone and probably take the suspects into the city for a proper interrogation and possible arraignment in the morning. The DA's office had been notified and was eager to get things moving on the case.

"We can take you to Jessica Bailey's body," John finally spoke up when there was a lull in the conversation.

"Okay." Officer Carson, who had introduced himself earlier, didn't sound as eager as John had expected. "It might be a good idea to confirm that there is a body out there and maybe get a few preliminary photos until the crime scene guys can take a look."

"How long are they going to be?"

"Probably won't make it out till sometime in the morning. Not much they can do in the dead of night anyway, especially not in this terrain. Would take them hours to get their equipment out there. Without daylight, I doubt they'd want to risk dropping or losing anything. Too expensive to replace."

"Are you advising we wait? That we just leave her at the mercy of the elements all night?" John was clearly disappointed.

"It's not ideal but I'm afraid we just don't have the resources to do anything else tonight. We already had to call in every guy we've got to deal with this apprehension. I know that you probably want to get home, but we can find you somewhere to stay so you won't have to go back and forth in the morning just to lead us to the site." Officer Carson's tone was placating but also contained a subtle, judgmental edge.

"No, I don't want to go home," John objected. "I mean, I do, but I don't want to leave her out there alone all night."

"There's nothing more that can be done for her, son," Officer Carson pointed out.

"Well, I think there is," John insisted. He marched off in the direction of Kiel's car, which had gone unnoticed by everyone although it was quite near. Kiel was only a few steps behind him.

"John, what are you doing?"

He had the trunk open and was pulling out the supplies he had packed with little intention of actually using. "I'm going out there to make sure that poor girl isn't alone tonight."

"She's beyond help, John." Kiel wasn't sure what to do about his friend. He could tell there was something deeper at play, but his own mind was in too many places with the developments to the Jessica Bailey case to delve into what John might be thinking.

"All I know is that if it were Mia out there, I wouldn't want her to be alone. Not with what those guys were saying about the animals. It's bad enough her aunt is going to find out that she's dead if she hasn't figured it out already. I just won't leave her." He tucked a sleeping bag awkwardly beneath his arm. It would be tricky and tiring, but he was determined to make it work.

Kiel sighed and grabbed the other sleeping bag from the trunk. "They're not going to like the idea," Kiel said, shoving a lantern and more snacks into his backpack and hoisting it on his tired back again. "But let me talk to them. If I'm there too, it'll be more official, like maintaining the chain of custody with evidence."

Kiel was right about the officers' reactions, but he was also right about his ability to talk them into the plan. "We'll accompany you to the site," Officer Carson finally agreed, pulling a can of fluorescent orange spray paint from a kit in the squad car and shaking it. "We can mark the trail as we go. It needs to be clearly marked for the evidence teams that'll be showing up in the morning anyway."

John led the way into the woods with Kiel just a few steps behind, blocking the officers' ability to see John whenever he pulled out the GEE to double-check their progress. The late hour was starting to wear on the party as they pushed through the woods and brush. They didn't speak much. The hiss of the spray paint as Officer Carson marked their path acknowledged that they hadn't lost one another. Finally, their lights fell upon the roughly dug and hastily refilled hole that contained the body of Jessica Bailey.

Officer Carson painted a line around the wound in the earth and then had everyone with a flashlight illuminate the scene while he snapped a few shots with his cell-phone camera. Kiel knelt down beside the hole and dug, removing just enough soil to find and expose the young woman's face. Another few photos of her slightly battered but recognizable features were taken for reference before someone offered Kiel a handkerchief to place over her face.

"I guess that's it," Officer Carson said as he checked his watch. "It's pretty late. Or early, depending on how you're looking at it. If you're still keen on staying out here, just keep an eye out for animals. For the most part, making a bit of noise will deter any animal, but don't do anything stupid if something big comes along. If you manage to get a signal out here, phone us in a few hours for an update on when to expect the crime-scene guys. From what I heard, the DA was pushing them to make it out early and to rate whatever they get for processing as a high priority, so you shouldn't be out here on your own too long." He sagged. "Man, I need a cup of coffee." He and the others started back along the brightly painted path, reinforcing it with an extra spray here and there.

"Night guys," Kiel called after them. "And thanks for all your help on this one."

"It's the job," Officer Carson responded. "Just wish someone found her sooner, before it came to this."

And then they were gone, leaving John and Kiel alone in the moonlit woods with Jessica Bailey's body.

###  Chapter Eight

John did his best to instruct Kiel as they set up a makeshift camp, but they were both too physically drained to put in the necessary effort. Their shelter from the cold breeze was flimsy, requiring that they burrow deep into their sleeping bags. Kiel understood what John was trying to do and was no stranger to dead bodies, but the prospect of sleeping feet away from one was beginning to get to him.

"Remind me again why I agreed to do this?" Kiel scooted around in the sleeping bag so that the girl's temporary grave wouldn't be the first thing he saw upon waking.

"I don't know," John admitted. "But I do appreciate it."

"I doubt this is what you had in mind that time you suggested a camping trip, but if I can make it through this I guess I could make it through a real camping trip. I'm sure I'd enjoy it more than this."

"For the record, this is definitely not what I had in mind when I mentioned the camping trip," John confessed. He too shifted in his sleeping bag, repositioning himself between Kiel and Jessica Bailey's body.

"I don't know if I'll be able to get any sleep knowing she's right there," Kiel confessed. "I'm not squeamish or anything, but this just gives me the creeps."

"I'm not creeped out or anything, but I know what you mean about not being able to sleep," John said quietly after a moment. "My body wants to shut down but my mind is just wired."

Kiel didn't respond. His exhaustion had conquered his reservations and after a few minutes his deep, even breathing blossomed into a medley of snores that echoed through the woods and made John smile. As long as Officer Carson was right about noise deterring animals, it looked like they'd be safe while they slept.

John rolled onto his stomach, rested his chin on his arms, closed his eyes, and hoped sleep would claim him as well. But he had no such luck. His mind trailed back and forth along the strange events of the day. Furrowing his brow, he reached down into the sleeping bag until he found his pocket. He pulled out the puzzling device that came from God knows who or where.

"Damn," he whispered. "I should've called Sarah to let her know what was up. Won't be able to get a signal now, and it's probably too late anyway. What time is it?" He began fumbling around for his phone, but a low humming from the contraption in his hand distracted him. The screen lit up and a line of text appeared.

It is 2:53 a.m. Would you like for me to contact Sarah Parrish?

"How do you keep doing that?" John hissed at the device. He glanced over to Kiel's sleeping bag. The snoring continued undisturbed.

I am not restricted by cellular phone towers.

"No, it's like you're actually listening to me, even when you're off."

I do not turn off in the way that you understand it. I am here to assist you when you need it. Listening is the easiest way to accomplish this task.

"Other than eavesdropping and scaring the crap out of me, what exactly is it you do?"

I can do more than you would think though not as much as you might like at times. I am here to help you.

"Where did you come from?"

You are not ready to know that. When you are, you will not need me to tell you. You will simply know.

"Oh, I'm more than ready for some answers, and I would have thought that was an easy one for you to give me." John's exhaustion left him in control of his volume but without the ability to keep his frustration in check.

You would be wrong. It is not for you to decide whether or not you are ready.

"Then who is it that decides?"

Nice try, but I'm still not telling you.

John sighed but it turned into a little laugh. He was glad Kiel was asleep and no one else was around to witness his ridiculous behavior. The image of him arguing with an apparently sentient machine was mildly disconcerting, and yet there he was, continuing the bizarre conversation.

"So what was with today? Where did that come from?"

If you are referring to the information regarding Jessica Bailey, it is what was required to accomplish the mission for the day.

"The day's mission? Well, if today's mission was to save her then I'm pretty sure we failed."

That was not the mission for the day and while you did not prevent her death, you did save her.

On some level, John knew that Jessica Bailey had been killed before the device had even shown the video of her murder, but he couldn't accept that the situation had been hopeless from the start. "What then? What was the mission if it wasn't to get to her before she died?"

There was a brief pause. The frustrations that had been building in John throughout the day were ready to boil over. Given what the device had told him earlier, he doubted pushing buttons would turn the thing off or stop the conversation, but at least he would feel like he was doing something. As his finger was about to press the first button, he received an answer.

The object of the mission was for you to learn to trust me.

"And why wasn't it to find her alive? You can do so much, why couldn't you do that? That would have accomplished the same thing and she'd be alive."

As I said earlier, I can't do everything you might wish me to. There will always be men who choose to be cruel. Not all tragedies can be avoided and death is a part of living.

"If you say so," John said, dismissing the subject for the time being. Talking to the device was one thing but arguing with it was another. "So you can make calls and you have some sort of built-in GPS. What else you got?"

Would you like for me to contact Sarah at this time?

John ducked his head as he blushed, even though there was no one around to see or care. "I think it's a little too late for that. I wouldn't want to wake her."

If she were asleep, I doubt she would mind. And she's not asleep.

"How can you be so sure?"

The same way I can show you everything you've seen so far and everything I will show you in the future. I just can. Trust me.

"I don't know." John resisted the temptation to call Sarah. He pushed his thoughts away from her and back to figuring out the device. "Do you respond to anyone else or is it just me?"

I respond to you and your needs.

"Cause it seemed like you were doing what Kiel wanted earlier, calling the local authorities," John challenged.

It was what you needed too.

"Fair enough. So, if I had a mission today, I mean, yesterday, does that mean that I have another mission today?"

You have several tasks you need to accomplish in the near future, but you can take some time to process having this mission bestowed upon you.

"Tasks? Bestowed? Can you tell me what exactly this mission is that's been dropped in my lap?"

That will become clear to you with time.

"Why can't you just tell me?"

You are not ready to believe and accept it yet, but you will. You need more time.

"I would've thought talking to you like this demonstrated belief, but okay."

I was not referring to belief in me. I was referring to belief in yourself.

"Uh-huh. So, what are these upcoming tasks then?" John was beginning to resent the lecture, so he focused instead on the device's impact to his immediate future.

Three names appeared, each followed by a nine-digit number. Kevin Bentley 134783984, Angela Woodward 422857285, Jason Crane 738593748.

"What are these?"

They are your upcoming tasks.

"What do I have to do with them?"

Help them.

"Are they all going to be like Jessica Bailey?" John asked, glancing into the dark beyond his shoulder toward where the young woman's lifeless body remained half-buried. He could just make out the handkerchief in the darkness. It fluttered eerily in the breeze, making it look like she might be breathing. He knew better than to hope, though he wished he didn't. If any animals in the woods were interested in investigating her corpse, they hadn't shown up.

Yes and no. The specific circumstances are different from Jessica Bailey's. They are each horrible and tragic in their own way.

"Great." John wasn't sure he liked where the conversation seemed to be heading. "Why me?"

You have proven your capability, dedication, faith, and understanding in many ways over the course of your life. You were not chosen lightly to undertake this task.

John took a few moments to consider what that said about whoever it was that had so generously bestowed the GEE upon him.

You should try to get some rest. It won't be long now before the others arrive to play their part.

John nodded. "Finally, something we agree on." He placed the device on the ground a foot or so from his head. "Goodnight, I guess." He settled down and rested his head on his arms. The questions spinning through his head created a din that slowly turned to soothing white noise as sleep finally claimed him.

###  Chapter Nine

John slept deeply if briefly. A lifelong light sleeper, it didn't take much to wake him. That morning, the shift to daylight and the chatter of awakening birds gently pulled him up from the dreamless depths. Kiel continued snoring as John rolled around and stretched. Keeping the sleeping bag up around his shoulders, he strained into a sitting position to survey the wooded area in the increasing daylight.

While the darkness and flashlights had given the area a sinister atmosphere, none of that lingered. For all the violent man-made marks – the slashes of orange paint across the bark of trees, dashed on leaves and rocks; the unnatural and sloppy pile of earth; and the stark incongruence of the clean white handkerchief against the dark, damp dirt – there was a grim dullness to the scene. He could feel nature already working to alleviate the evidence of the tragic intrusion, trying to reclaim and neutralize the space.

Kiel started to stir but needed a few minutes before he was able to remember where he was and why he was there. Throwing an arm over his eyes against the sun's intrusion, he groaned loudly, startling some of the squirrels and chipmunks that had strayed from their trees to investigate the intruders who had stayed the night.

"What time is it?" he croaked.

"A little before six. Maybe a little after," John replied with an uncertain shrug. Kiel nodded groggily and looked around briefly. The daylight did little to improve his opinion of the spot.

"We should call Carson to see how things are coming along on their end," he suggested unenthusiastically. He wanted to be more awake before rehashing the events of the previous evening, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, and certainly not without coffee. The thought of the hot, caffeine-infused beverage was just the motivation he needed. "If we catch them before they get too far, they can pick up coffee on their way. Oh, and doughnuts... or bagels... or muffins."

John pulled out the GEE and said, "Call Officer Carson," then handed the device to Kiel who took it gingerly, still unsure whether there was a proper way to hold it.

"Carson," the man's tired voice answered at the other end of the line.

"Hey, Carson," Kiel said as he fought off a yawn. "Did you manage to catch any sleep yet?"

"Nah, but your guys have taken over most of the heavy lifting. Doesn't look like it'll be my problem too much longer. The paperwork will be a nightmare, but it can wait till after I get my forty winks. How you two holding up? Any run-ins with the locals?"

"The locals?"

"Have you seen any animals sniffing around?" Officer Carson translated with a weak chuckle.

"Oh, no. Nothing I've noticed anyway. Do you have an ETA on the Crime Scene Unit or the ME? And if you talk to them, could you ask them to pick up some coffee and a breakfast sandwich or two? It doesn't matter where. We'd be eternally indebted to you. " His hand went to his stomach while his eyes traveled to the pack with the extra snacks he'd packed the night before. No doubt they were colder than he was, having sat out all night. He could gnaw on something for a while to take the edge off, but on their own they were unappealing.

"They're just heading out now. Shouldn't take them more than an hour to get there and follow the breadcrumbs to where you two are. I'll let them know you're eagerly awaiting fresh supplies," he added with a chuckle that transformed into a yawn.

"Thanks," Kiel said. He whispered to John, "How do you hang this thing up?" But the GEE had already ended the call. Kiel shrugged and handed it back to John, who tucked it safely away in the middle of his backpack where it was unlikely to get damaged. He wasn't ready to think about the strange conversation he'd had with it during the night. One part of him was trying, and failing, to convince the other part of him that it had just been a dream. So instead he chose to focus on Jessica Bailey.

Kiel shivered as he shed the sleeping bag and wandered a little further into the woods to relieve himself. John rifled through their store of snacks and pulled out a couple of granola bars and an unopened bottle of very cold water. Its iciness was jarring as it hit his stomach. He couldn't make himself finish more than half a granola bar.

When he returned, Kiel gulped down some water but didn't bother to look at the food. He was still dreaming of something hot and doughy for breakfast. As long as he could distract himself and avoid thinking about eating, he would be able to hold out until real food arrived. He realized they had a problem to work on, so not thinking about food was going to be a breeze.

"We have to come up with a reason for being in the woods last night," he announced to John.

"What do you mean? We were here looking for Jessica Bailey."

"Yeah, because that thing told us where to look," Kiel pointed out. "That's not going to be enough when my colleagues get past the fact that she's been found and they have some suspects in custody. They're going to wonder how a cop who happened to be working the case ended up miles from his jurisdiction, in the middle of the woods, at the exact spot those three guys chose to dump the body, at exactly the moment they happened to be dumping her. It's too convenient." Kiel looked over to the girl's body, running through an endless list of questions he'd have if this had been happening to someone else. "They trust me and know me, but even that will only get us so far if we can't figure out something plausible."

"You mentioned the camping trip when I called you from Sarah's," John pointed out. "Someone must've overheard you. We could go with that."

"They wouldn't buy it," Kiel said dismissively. "They know me better than that. Besides, we left most of the real camping gear at your place. And this area isn't exactly a camping hot spot. It isn't even remotely practical as a campsite."

"Well, what about a hike then?" But John knew as he was saying it that the idea was too feeble to fly.

"Who goes for a hike that late in the day and who hikes out here?" Kiel shot down the suggestion. "Anyway, that's the same flimsy excuse the three stooges gave last night. That wouldn't be suspicious or anything."

"Why not, though? I mean..." But Kiel's dubious glare shut him up on that idea. "Fine. Never mind."

John stopped thinking aloud as he continued running through possibilities, trying to reason them into credibility. The only way he could tell that Kiel hadn't fallen asleep with his eyes open was his posture. Whenever John caught an idea he would straighten up. Silently debating his way through it, he would rise and fall, like a sink with one person bailing water out almost as fast as another was dumping water in. When an idea completely collapsed, he'd sigh and rest his head on his hands, propping his elbows on his thighs.

The minutes ticked by. Small animals snapping twigs were starting to make Kiel jumpy. It was unlikely that the medical examiner or crime scene guys would start interrogating them as soon as they appeared, but the simple fact that they would have to lie was making both men anxious. They both reasoned that having something to tell when asked would make it easier when the time came. Kiel knew that anything reasonable would be enough. With the other three in custody and, hopefully, spilling their boss's secrets, no one would bother to look too closely into what he and John said. But they needed to have something to say first.

"I've got it," John exclaimed triumphantly. "Geocaching."

"What?"

"Geocaching. I've always thought it sounded like fun but never got around to actually trying it. Funny thing is, it's why I got that GPS app for my phone in the first place. We can say I didn't want to go out alone the first time I tried it and that I entered the coordinates wrong and we got lost."

John waited for Kiel to feel the excitement and relief that already had his own muscles relaxing, but all he could see in his friend's face was confusion.

"What the hell is geocaching?" Kiel finally asked.

"You've never heard of it?" John was a little surprised. "I know I've mentioned it to you before."

"And I probably just nodded like I knew what you were talking about but forgot to look it up later."

"It's like a treasure hunt, but instead of clues you get coordinates. It's open to pretty much anyone who's interested. People will go out and hide stuff in obscure places and post the coordinates of the site online for other people to find. Usually it's just a small box with cheap toys like what you get at the arcade. Knickknacks."

Kiel still didn't recognize the term but at least understood the concept enough to explain it if pressed. He nodded slowly and John could see him slowly starting to relax. "Geocaching," he repeated several times to be sure he was saying it right. "You asked me to go geocaching 'cause you've never done it before, and we got lost. While we were trying to find our way out of the woods, we heard those three and were going to ask for help. But then we heard them talking about what they were doing and we hid. For our own safety."

"Right," John agreed. "And you got enough of a good look at them that you thought you recognized one of them. You thought you heard one of them mention her name and asked me if you heard it right. Wanted to make sure the case wasn't messing with your head too much. I heard it too, so you decided to call it in."

"Exactly how it happened," Kiel said with a nod.

They didn't have to wait much longer before they heard the unmistakable sounds of a dozen or so people loaded down with equipment crashing through the brush. Kiel homed in on a young man carrying a Java-in-a-Box under one arm and a fast-food bag in the other hand. The box was warm enough to be giving off steam in the morning chill.

John moved slowly toward the food but his attention was drawn to the half-filled pit where Jessica Bailey's body lay. The crew fanned out around her to unload their equipment. The handkerchief was removed and two different cameras went to work capturing the scene from every possible angle. Another technician unloaded an assortment of utensils and vessels for collecting samples for analysis. The team knelt around the body, as if in communal prayer, and began clearing the dirt and rocks from atop Jessica Bailey.

Kiel came up beside his friend and held out a cup of coffee and a sandwich that oozed cheese and eggs on a sausage patty, all slapped between two halves of a lightly toasted English muffin. "Come on." He nodded toward their rudimentary camping gear, packed up and waiting at the perimeter of the site. "We should head to the station for an update. They'll have questions for us." But John still watched as the specialists gently removed the young woman's body from the soil and performed a cursory examination for obvious evidence. A body bag had already been laid out on the ground a few feet away, waiting patiently for its cargo. "Let's go, John," Kiel said as he finally took John by the shoulder and guided him away from the grim work at hand. "Don't worry. She won't be left alone again. There'll be someone with her from here on out."

They picked up their packs and followed the orange trail back through the trees toward Kiel's car.

###  Chapter Ten

John tugged the sleeve of his coat down over his wrist. He had never worn a watch, preferring to use the digital clock on his cell phone instead. He was unused to having something there, but if he wanted to keep the GEE close at hand he would just have to adjust to it.

The previous day had been an unproductive one as far as his work was concerned. He lost track of how many people had questioned him about finding Jessica Bailey's body. Many of the questions were the same from one interrogator to the next, until the people and the questions blended together into one exhausting and repetitive blur. Then it had suddenly stopped and he found himself alone in the silence of his empty house.

Leaving the GEE on his kitchen table, John avoided it while he put away the extraneous camping equipment. While rolling up the sleeping bags, one of the wide elastic bands designed to hold it together snapped. He found an empty pillowcase and managed to stuff the sleeping bag into it. He stuck the broken elastic strap in his pocket, intending to throw it away. But it was still in his pocket when he sat down to dinner, the GEE sitting there untouched. As he ate his way through a bowl of cereal, he wondered if the GEE might turn itself on and tell him more about the To Do list it had created for him. He wasn't sure whether he was ready for the responsibility hinted at in their late-night conversation. Still, the device had come in handy even if it did occasionally freak him out. Reaching into his pocket, he had pulled out the elasticized band. After a few minutes of fiddling with it, he managed to attach the band to the GEE so he could wear it around his wrist.

Sarah was reading the newspaper at the circulation desk when he walked into the library. She was surprised and a little disappointed when John failed to even acknowledge her on his way in, so she followed him to his usual table, bringing the paper with her. "Are you okay?" she asked, perching on the edge of the table as he began unpacking his computer bag. Professor Lucas had sent an e-mail to John the evening before about how he had changed the angle of the piece he was writing and needed John to find a few more articles for him. This time, instead of sending him a list of titles, he wanted John to pull whatever he thought might be relevant. "Hello?" Sarah waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention.

"Sorry," John said, turning to face her. "What?"

"Never mind." She moved to the seat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. "I think I just got my answer. I take it you don't want to talk about it?"

"No," he admitted. "I think I'm pretty much talked out at this point."

"Yeah, I should say so," she said holding the newspaper out for him to take. "Sounds like you gave quite the interview yesterday."

He scanned through the piece in the paper before dropping his head down on the table and banging his forehead repeatedly against it.

"What are you doing?" Sarah hissed. She took back the newspaper and used it to hit him playfully on the back of the head. "You're being too loud. Someone will tell Mrs. Jensen and she'll be on my case."

John stopped banging and left his forehead pressed against the slick wood surface so he couldn't look at her. "I didn't realize I was giving an interview," he confessed.

"What do you mean you didn't realize it? How do you not notice you're answering someone's questions and they're writing down your answers?" she asked with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

He rotated his head so that his cheek was pressed against the tabletop and he could see her face. "Do you know how many questions I answered yesterday? Or how tired I was? I could've sworn the only people I talked to yesterday were cops."

"So a reporter just snuck in on you?" She tilted her head so that her eyes were level to his. She tried to press her lips together but failed because she couldn't help smiling. Yet she did succeed in suppressing a laugh.

"Stop it," he said. But her smile was infectious, and he knew that with time and distance from the incident, he too would laugh. "I didn't want my name out there, because I'm afraid it will only lead to more questions. I don't like having to lie about it, but who would believe the truth? Honestly, I'm surprised I didn't wind up spilling the truth about it all to someone yesterday. Usually when I try to lie I start to feel so guilty about it that I can't help giving myself away. I think I was too tired and numb to feel much of anything."

Sarah gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Nothing right now," he said with a heave of his shoulders. He lifted the cover of his laptop and opened up a database so he could get to work. "But I'll let you know. I might need you to let me into the archives in a little while."

Sarah gave him a little pat on the back and stood up. "You know that's not what I meant, but okay. When you're ready, you know where to find me." She headed back to the front desk, glancing briefly over her shoulder with mild concern. John had already shut everything else out and was engrossed with the task at hand. As was his habit, he'd removed his coat when he sat down and pushed his sleeves up. She saw the device strapped to his wrist and watched him push it up and down, trying to find a placement that was comfortable.

A few other patrons noticed his fidgeting, and some eyebrows rose when they saw the unusual contraption on his wrist. One teenager smiled and came up to ask John what kind of watch it was and where he got it. John didn't respond, and the kid walked off disappointed and annoyed. John was determined to lose himself in his work and forget about what had happened, at least for a little while.

As he was copying out a list of titles to search for in the stacks, the GEE on his wrist began to vibrate, sending his pen on an unexpected, squiggly path across the paper. He took it off, making a mental note not to wear it on his writing hand in the future. Surveying his surroundings quickly, John whispered, "What do you want?"

You should be working.

"That's what I was trying to do."

You should be working on your greater mission.

"Is this about that list of names from the other night? 'Cause now is not really a good time."

Instead of replying to John, the GEE displayed the same list of names and numbers that it had that chilly night in the woods.

"No, I need to get this research done for my job. I can look at this later when I have the time." He stuck the GEE in the computer bag where the light it emitted couldn't be seen. The device began beeping when he took up his pen to finish copying the list he'd started. It wasn't too loud but it did attract the attention of one or two people nearby. Reaching into the bag and pulling it back out, he threw out an apologetic look and said, "Sorry. Haven't figured out how to work the alarm on it yet." He poked at the screen. "Stop that. What're you trying to do? Get me kicked out of here?"

You cannot ignore your greater mission. And the list of names reappeared. John wasn't sure, but it looked longer than the last time. He scanned through the list but they remained just names and numbers, until he reached the name Russell Frazier.

"Wait, I remember this one. A mugging that went wrong and the guy wound up dead. But, they caught the guy and I could've sworn he was convicted." John went back to his laptop and did a quick search, pulling up scores of entries about the incident. Russell Frazier, a husband and father of two, was shot during a mugging. The police came upon the scene to find the mugger, Randy Molina, still there. He gave them some story about finding Russell already dead, but during his trial it came out that there was gunshot residue on his hands. Though there were pushes for leniency, since it didn't seem he'd intended to kill Frazier, Molina's steadfast and violent denial of guilt had worked against him. They wanted him to acknowledge what he'd done and to show remorse, but he remained defiant all the way to his prison cell. "If this case is closed, why is this guy's name on the list?"

That information is incomplete. Would you like to view the files for Russell Frazier 386749329?

John's curiosity was stirring but he remembered how disturbing the video of Jessica Bailey's final moments had been and how loud. "Not here. And don't push or start making a racket," he whispered to the GEE as he started packing his things. "I'm not ignoring you. This just isn't the place to do this." He put the device on his other wrist and folded his jacket over that arm, keeping it out of sight as he left the library.

"Sarah," he called quietly, pausing at the circulation desk on his way out. She was on the phone trying to locate a book they'd loaned out a few months earlier.

"It is past due and we haven't received it yet. We have several patrons that have been waiting on it, and since it is part of our collection... If you insist, I will have to pass you over to my supervisor, Mildred Jensen, so she can... I'm sorry, but that's standard procedure here and she's the one who drafted and implemented that policy... Really? Well, isn't that a wonderful coincidence? Yes, we will keep an eye out for it. If it isn't here by then, I will have Mrs. Jensen give you a call. Thank you."

She hung up with a little smirk on her face and jotted a notation on the paper before her. Noticing John, she said, "You can't tell Mrs. Jensen I said this, but while everyone loved Nana, they fear Jensen. Name-dropping either of them is enough to get people to do what you want." She finally became aware of John's somber expression and her amusement shifted to concern. "What's wrong?"

"I'm here to collect on that favor you offered earlier," he said as he held out the handwritten list. "Would you be willing to find these for me and set them aside? I'll be by later today or tomorrow to pick them up."

"Of course," Sarah said, taking the list and glancing it over. "Where are you going?"

He hiked his computer bag up higher on his shoulder and avoided her gaze as he replied, "Something came up and I've got to head home to check on it."

"It's that thing again, isn't it?" Sarah said, undeterred by his evasiveness.

"Something like that. Thanks."

"Just let me know if you need anything else."

John nodded and headed out to his car.

###  Chapter Eleven

John went around his house closing everything up, taking extra precautions to keep to himself the GEE and what it could do. He didn't trust anyone beyond Kiel and Sarah, not while he was still figuring out the extent of what the device could do. And based on what he knew so far, he was scared.

Even though it wasn't even midday, he'd made the room so dark it was necessary to turn on the lights. Not long after moving into his late father's house, John had decided that he didn't need a formal dining room and, still reluctant to poke around the rooms upstairs, chose that spot for an informal office. The table was large and allowed him to spread his work out more than a desk would have. His printer sat at the head of the table with a half-used case of paper occupying the chair.

Gathering all the existing papers carefully into piles, one for each project, he cleared the table of his work. He placed the GEE in front of him on the table and tried to get comfortable in the chair. Behind the device, his laptop was open and ready.

"Show me the files for Russell Frazier," he said in a clear voice.

The GEE's display warmed up quickly and a video of a man taking money from an ATM began to play. It was a dark night and rain drizzled from the cloudy sky, puddling on the sidewalk and street where a single car was parked. John squinted at the images. There was just one streetlight illuminating the scene. Only the man's back was visible; but based on the articles John had skimmed to refresh his memory, he knew it must be Russell Frazier.

Sticking the debit card back in his wallet, the man double-checked the half-dozen bills the machine had given him and put those in the wallet as well. He turned toward his car, pulling the keys from his pocket as he tucked his wallet safely away. John recognized the face from the multitude of articles he'd found online, though the version in the video was wearier than the smiling still image distributed by the media. It took Frazier a few tries to find the key he needed, holding them up to what little light there was.

John spotted the man wearing a navy ski mask over Frazier's shoulder just a moment before a gloved hand reached out and grabbed the arm holding Frazier's keys. He spun Frazier around and pushed him against the car door. The two men were well matched in size, but the man in the navy ski mask got an arm across Frazier's chest and kept him pinned using his full weight. He brought his other hand up towards Frazier's face to show the startled man a beat-up handgun.

"Hand over your wallet." The voice that came from behind the ski mask was low and harsh, but there was also something about it that sounded put on, perhaps trying to cover up his inexperience or nerves.

Frazier kept his eyes locked with the pair peeking through the holes in the ski mask as he reached for the wallet he'd just put away. He held it up for his assailant to take. Releasing his hold on Frazier, the shrouded man snatched the wallet and struggled to open it with one hand. The other continued to aim the gun at Frazier until frustration won out and he used both hands to rip the wallet open, nearly tearing it in two. Once the cash was in hand, he dropped the wallet to the ground. It landed in a puddle next to the front tire on the driver's side.

Frazier saw that the mugger's attention was consumed with counting his meager haul and impulsively decided to act. His hands shot out and grabbed the wrist that held the gun. Caught off guard, the attacker only maintained control of the weapon by dropping the wad of cash and getting his second hand onto the gun. Frazier tugged and twisted to free the firearm. When that proved to make little difference, he shifted his weight and crashed his body against the man in the ski mask. He failed to bring the man down but did succeed in backing him up a few steps. This brought the attacker back onto the sidewalk. Unfazed, the mugger countered with a head-butt that momentarily stunned Frazier. It was enough time for the mugger to push Frazier off of him. Frazier couldn't get a firm footing on the wet road and used the side of the car to catch himself. The thief reacted quickly and fired at Frazier.

There were no screams of pain this time, just a low groan and the shocked expression in Frazier's eyes as he slumped to the ground. Despite the mask, John could see the startled look in the culprit's eyes. The man blinked a few times and then dropped the gun in the same puddle that was starting to swell with Frazier's blood. Crouching beside his victim, he pulled the damp bills from the ground, then removed a glove and reached over to examine the severity of the wound he'd inflicted, feeling for a pulse. His hand came away covered in blood. His startled look was replaced with one of fear as he dropped the glove.

His head whipped up and he squinted briefly into the distance as he reached for the glove. A bill fell from his pocket. He quickly snatched it back up before he bolted in the other direction, keeping to the shadows.

The noise of the masked man running took a moment to register with John, but it grew louder as another figure came into the frame, his footsteps slapping the wet concrete of the sidewalk as he turned the corner. Spotting Frazier lying on the ground, the newcomer ran to try and help.

He felt along Frazier's neck for a pulse before lowering his head to the man's chest. When he did so, John got a good look at his face and tensed in his seat. He recognized the face from articles about the trial. It was the face of Randy Molina.

Lifting his head from Frazier's chest, something in the puddle caught his eye. He reached over and retrieved the gun. John watched the gears turn in Molina's head as he made the connection between the lifeless body in front of him and the weapon that had created it. Eyes wide, Molina's whole body began to shake in shock. There was a visible struggle as he fought to regain control of his muscles. The distant din of approaching sirens began, adding to the strain visible in Molina's frame. Between the competing shaking and tensing in his body, the gun went off. He tried to see where the shot might have gone but there was only darkness beyond the small pool of lamplight.

The look of surprise and shock didn't leave Molina's face, even as the lights of police cars appeared, mere moments after the stray shot was fired. Officers emerged with guns drawn. They screamed at Molina to place the weapon on the ground and put his hands behind his head. He did as he was told, in a daze until he heard the handcuffs click shut around his wrists. He began explaining. "What're you doing? It's not what it looks like. I heard some shots just before I came around the corner. When I got here... there was nothing more I could do. He was already gone."

The officer who was leading him toward the backseat of the nearest police vehicle rattled off the prisoner's Miranda rights, then added: "You can tell your story back at the precinct but I'm gonna let you know now, it's not gonna do you much good if you keep lying. We caught you with the gun in your hand and we heard that last shot. No way it could've been anyone but you fired that one."

"But the last shot was me," Molina admitted. "I didn't see where it went but the gun just went off in my hand. I swear, he was already dead on the ground when I got here." His assertions and protestations became muffled when the door was slammed shut behind him. Another officer jumped into the driver's seat and pulled away from the curb. The video froze on the image of Molina writhing in the backseat, continuing his denials of guilt.

John pulled out his phone and instinctively called Kiel.

"Lieutenant Samuels," he answered.

"Kiel, it's John. I was wondering if you'd be able to let me take a look at the files for an old case."

The request surprised Kiel. "Uh... I don't know. I think it would depend on the case."

"It's the Russell Frazier case. A guy named Randy Molina was convicted."

"I think I remember that one," Kiel said, clearly reaching back a ways. "It was about the time I made Sergeant. Guy said he found him dead and the gun accidentally fired when he picked it up."

"That's the one. The last shot was an accident. The gun wasn't even pointed at Frazier," John said with certainty.

"I'm pretty sure the guys on the case looked into it, if only to cover their asses. If my memory serves me right, they never found that mysterious bullet. Searched both sides of the street and couldn't find it anywhere. No one reported property damage. So if he was telling the truth, where'd it go? Why couldn't anyone find it?"

"I don't know," John said dismissively. "Maybe it washed down a storm drain. It was pretty wet that night. There might be something I can find in the file."

Kiel hesitated, searching for the right way to discourage John. "Even if it is something you'd be able to take a look at, I doubt I'll be able to look for it for a while. We're all swamped with the Jessica Bailey case."

"Sooner would be better," John pushed. "If my information is right, there's an innocent man who's been sitting in prison for the last five years."

Kiel paused, then lowered his voice significantly. "This information, did you get it the same way you got the information about Jessica Bailey?"

"Yeah, why?"

Kiel sighed. "John, I don't know where that thing came from, but I can't go digging into a closed case on a whim."

"Why is this any different than when I came to you about Jessica Bailey?" John asked in disbelief.

"We were desperate for any lead on that case, and if I hadn't seen that video with my own eyes... Look, we have too many open cases to handle. We can't waste time going through old, closed cases." Kiel's tone shifted from defensive to patronizing. "If the guy was tried and convicted in the courts, then it's up to his lawyers to build a case for appeal."

"Fine," John said with frustration. "If you don't want to help me, I'll figure something else out. I thought that you would understand."

"If you think I don't care, you're way out of line," Kiel said, swinging back hard to defensive as he hung up on John.

John scowled at the phone as he put it down. There were a few other things he would have liked to say to Kiel, but he also knew that they were probably things he would regret later. Still, there had to be something else he could do.

"You wouldn't happen to know who else I could go to for copies of those police files?" he asked the GEE, half-curious, half-sarcastic.

I can provide you with the names and contact information for several people who have access to the files you desire. I can also provide you with the files directly. Which would you prefer?

"You can do that?" John asked incredulously. "Wait – why would I go for the names when you can just give me the files?"

It is an indirect route to the files but the choice remains yours.

"I'll take the files, please," John stated, unsure whether the GEE was actually displaying a sense of humor or if its response was arbitrary.

Shall I send the files to your computer or would you prefer to view them here on the screen?

"Send them to me, then I can print them out if I need to." He chuckled. "I'm guessing you can print them for me yourself, can't you? You probably don't even need a software update first or anything like that either."

I can print to any printer you have the ability to access.

"I think you and I have different definitions of 'access,'" John speculated.

I can print to any device designed for that purpose. You are limited to the devices that you can physically access.

"That's what I thought." John opened his laptop and went through his internet history, searching through the articles he'd read earlier, saving the ones that he thought would be most useful. His mail notification popped up, but when he looked at the e-mail there was no sender listed. There was no recipient listed either. It was just in his inbox.

Opening the file, John was surprised to see that the images included a number of handwritten notations. "This is probably better than anything Kiel could've gotten for me," John admitted. He verified what Kiel had been able to recall about the case but wasn't particularly impressed with the level of detail in the reports. The police didn't believe Molina's story and hadn't put a lot of effort into corroborating it.

John went back through the articles until he found one with the video he was looking for. It comprised several interviews with Molina's attorney, conducted at different points throughout the trial. John was impressed with the clearly inexperienced lawyer. He hadn't mastered keeping his emotions in check when reporters attacked his client's story and character. Whether it was inexperience and personal frustration or whether the man's indignation arose from a genuine belief in Molina's innocence, John saw someone who, even years later, might still care enough to fight for Randy Molina.

Looking up the attorney's office information, John picked up his phone again and made a call.

###  Chapter Twelve

John had conducted another search of his house and found a dusty messenger bag as well as a few folders and binders that he cleared out for his personal use. Printing off the GEE's copies of the police reports and a few of the articles, he tucked them in place and brought them with him, just in case they were necessary. Thanks to the GEE's GPS, he found himself staring at the small print on the occupants list of a downtown office building. He found the button for Ethan Tyler and pressed. He was answered with a low buzzing noise and the door opened when he pushed. It was an older building, perhaps once an inn, which had been converted into a handful of offices. None of them were particularly large or modernized. He couldn't pinpoint whether the resulting atmosphere was warm and homey or just plain dull.

Ethan Tyler's office was on the first floor but toward the back of the building. The lettering across the glass window of his door bore the name of a defunct insurance broker. It was partially covered with a simple printed sign bearing Ethan Tyler, Attorney at Law in a large, basic font.

As John motioned to knock, a voice from within called out. "There's no need to knock. Just come on in."

It was a cramped office with two chairs in front of a medium-sized desk. Cardboard boxes of files spotted the floor here and there. Tyler had piles of papers sorted on his desk and he was putting them into the appropriate hanging folders, labeling them, and putting them away.

"Sorry about the mess," he apologized, clearing a precarious stack from one of the chairs and offering it to John. "I'm still arranging the space here. Just moved in a few weeks ago. After ten years, I'm done with the Public Defender's Office and striking out on my own. My wife didn't like the hours I was working; something about wanting to see me from time to time. Would rather work for myself anyway. I've had some cases that I could've used to make a name for myself, but my bosses wouldn't give me the resources I needed. Might take me a while to build up resources on my own, but at least I won't be answering to anyone but myself as far as how and when to use them. Like the Molina case you called about. It was one of my first at that office, and I know I could've won it if I didn't have so many other cases on my plate at the same time. Kept meaning to go back to it but haven't had a chance yet. Maybe now I'll get around to it. It sounded like you've found some information that could help with organizing another appeal?"

"I'm still trying to get a firm grasp on what happened during the trial to see if I even can help," John explained. He was beginning to rethink his earlier impressions of the lawyer. He placed the messenger bag carefully on the floor beside the chair and settled in to listen.

"Well, the trial was a circus," the lawyer said, diving right in. "It wasn't about the strengths or weaknesses of the prosecutor's case at all. They paraded the victim's wife and kids around to pull on everyone's heartstrings." He paused a moment, realizing how his words sounded aloud. "I know how callous that sounds, and I want you to know I'm not unfeeling. What that poor woman and those children suffered is horrible. The younger girl probably won't even remember her father or what a wonderful man he was, and that's a tragedy. But Randy Molina was as much a victim as Russell Frazier and his family. The prosecution twisted half-assed evidence into the shape they wanted and held it together with that woman's tears and a community's shock, outrage, and grief.

"They didn't prove that my client did it beyond a reasonable doubt, but rather that it was reasonable to assume he did it and screw the doubt. I requested that they send some of their forensics to another lab to verify the results and was turned down, first by their offices and then by a judge. If I wanted the tests done, I shouldn't expect the prosecution to foot the bill, that's what I was told. When I asked for my office to ante up, they said it wasn't in the budget. Had to rely on the state's expert witnesses; couldn't afford to find any of my own to look at anything. Of course, my office wouldn't let me go outside their established contacts, and all of them were already familiar with the case, through the newspapers and local stations. And every chance the stations got they aired video of the sobbing widow being comforted by kind and generous neighbors who couldn't imagine the kind of horrible person who would do something like that."

"What about Molina's story about the gun going off when he picked it up? Did you look into it yourself?" John asked, cutting the rambling man off and redirecting him back to the physical evidence in question.

"I did what I could but like I said, I only had so much time and resources. Randy couldn't tell me what direction the gun was pointing when it went off. He was in shock. I tried looking but didn't get anything. When I crossed the witnesses on the stand about the timing of the shots, most of them admitted there was a bit of a pause between the last shot and the earlier ones, but none of them could tell how long exactly. And since no one but Randy even caught a glimpse of the other guy, the one who actually did it, the prosecutor was able to make it look like Randy fired the last shot just to make sure Frazier was dead."

"Did you have any other ideas that could help exonerate your client?" Maybe there was another angle of approach John could take.

"I focused on the missing money. Frazier had a receipt for his withdrawal but the bills weren't at the crime scene. The prosecution was able to get the serial numbers from the bank, but those six bills weren't found anywhere. They speculated that one of the two men dropped the money during the exchange and it was washed down a storm drain. I tried to argue that the real culprit, the man Randy saw, took the bills; but all they had to do to poke holes in that theory was question why someone would go to the trouble of mugging someone and then not spend the money. No one wanted to hear my theories on that subject, but they only did a cursory canvas of local businesses for the bills. Even if I'd had the resources to send someone looking, by the time I got the case it was already too late. The bills could have made it all the way across the country in that time." The lawyer began each explanation full of the passion that had carried him through the trial, but reliving the loss left him feeling defeated and it came across in his tone of voice.

"There was no video from the ATM?" John asked.

"Everything happened outside the camera's range."

John nodded, absorbing the information. "Have you filed any appeals yet?"

"I filed several but Randy and I both knew going in that they were weak. I guess it was good that he didn't get his hopes up too high, since they failed one after another. Since those first few, there hasn't been anything new in the case to build an appeal around. Of course, the cops aren't about to keep looking at a case that they're convinced is all wrapped up. Once I get this practice up and going to the point where I have some real discretionary funds to work with, the first thing I want to do is hire someone who can look into the case independently. You wouldn't happen to be a private investigator, would you?" Tyler tried to hit a humorous note on the end but John could tell he was subtly trying to fish for the reason John had contacted him about this case.

"I'm an independent researcher," John clarified. "I've mostly done academic work, but this case was brought to my attention and I agree that Mr. Molina is innocent. I'd like to do what I can to help clear his name and help the police apprehend the actual culprit. Based on what you've been telling me, you need something concrete, tangible, before you can put together a successful appeal."

"Right. We need to find the bullet or those missing bills at the least. Getting a name to attach to the mystery man probably wouldn't hurt, but there's little chance of finding any of it. I'd love for the verdict to be overturned, but even just getting a new trial would be a chance. Honestly, though, what's in this for you?" Ethan Tyler was suspicious of John but wasn't going to complain if it worked to his benefit. "After a few years, Randy gave up. He asked me not to meet with him anymore because he'd finally accepted that he's not going to get out. I suggested once that he might get parole but he didn't seem to think so. Throughout the sentencing, there were heavy hints from the DA and the judge that a case could be made for leniency if he confessed or showed remorse. They insinuated that maybe it was all an accident, that Frazier had startled him when he reached for the gun. But Randy would rather sit in prison than confess to a crime he didn't commit." Even though he shrugged, there was an unmistakable note of pride in his voice.

John gave the lawyer a brief smile. "Does Randy have a family?"

"Well, he didn't have a wife and kids to parade around the courtroom and distract jurors from voting according to the law. Just a housebound mother who barely remembers him and a couple of out-of-state cousins who distanced themselves from the whole case from the beginning. We chose not to emphasize the difficulties he had caring for his mother, because the prosecution would have just turned that into a motive for mugging Frazier."

"Well, I'm willing to bet that, whether she recognizes him or not, Randy's mother misses him on some level. That's reason enough for me." John stood and held a hand out for Ethan Tyler to shake. "I'm going to look into this a little more. See what I can dig up about that bullet and those lost bills."

"For Randy's sake, I hope you find something. But I'm not going to hold my breath. No one wants this stirred up."

As he turned in a tight circle to escape the overcrowded office, John could tell that stirring it up was exactly what the odd attorney wanted, especially if someone else was willing to do the real leg work and foot the bill.

###  Chapter Thirteen

John didn't recognize the street from the video he'd watched, but the GEE insisted he was in the right spot. It wasn't until he called up a still image of the street as it appeared in the video from several years earlier that, visually, he was able to reconcile the two. The ATM where Frazier made the withdrawal that had triggered the events of that evening had been removed and bricked over. The gas station up the way had changed ownership, as had a number of the shops along each side of the road. Perhaps the biggest difference was simply the number of people and cars rushing about in the midday sun as opposed to the deserted roadway of that late night.

Glancing around, hoping that remaining in his car wouldn't look too conspicuous, John shifted in the seat to conceal the GEE from anyone who might peek in the driver's window out of curiosity.

"Can you pull up the video of the attack on Russell Frazier?" There was a low hum as the device called up the video in question. "But skip ahead to the part where Randy Molina accidentally fires the gun," he added. Instantly, the image changed and picked up a few moments before the shot was fired. John watched again as Molina's hand shook and his eyes widened in fear. The gun went off but John still didn't catch which direction the barrel was pointing at the time. "Could you slow it down?"

How slow would you like it to go: Half-Speed, Quarter-Speed, Manual Manipulation.

"How does 'Manual Manipulation' work?"

You advance the video frame by frame at your own pace.

"That's perfect," John said. He was beginning to enjoy playing with some of the GEE's features. It was just unfortunate that so many of them were tied to such grim work.

An arrow appeared in each of the bottom corners of the screen as the video appeared, paused at that moment just before the gun in Molina's hand fired. It didn't take more than a superficial tap for John to advance the video. After a few moments, he'd found the frames he was looking for and ran through them several times, backward and forward, making note of the angle of the gun as the bullet exploded from the muzzle.

John began to open his door but the angry blare of a horn sent him cowering back inside. As the car in question went past, John caught sight of the furious driver, gesturing wildly at him only to slam on the brakes when the person in front of him braked unexpectedly. John triple-checked for approaching cars the next time he opened the door.

Once safely on the sidewalk, it took him a few minutes to reorient himself, finally figuring it out when he identified a hydrant that hadn't changed in the ensuing years. He tried to reposition himself so that he was crouched just as Molina had been. Referencing the GEE, he found the direction the bullet traveled and headed off, moving slowly and keeping his eyes peeled, though he wasn't sure what exactly he should be looking for so many years later.

There was trash but not much else. He picked up and deposited some of the litter into a bin, hoping to divert attention from his true purpose. There might once have been damage to a building's exterior but so many of them had been renovated, no doubt to encourage buyers along the way.

Frustrated, John ducked into a narrow alley.

"Do you have any other angles for that video? Maybe one that looks along the street where that last bullet went," he implored the GEE.

The video reappeared, cued up to that same moment that John had already gone over dozens of times. But before John could let out the sigh of irritation that had been steadily building, the camera angle shifted like something in the movies so that it was looking down the sidewalk past the gun's barrel. John was pretty sure he hadn't blinked but he had a difficult time believing there had been no cuts in the footage. It was as though someone had frozen the actual moment in time for the sole purpose of moving to a more suitable position.

The video sped by in an instant and all John caught was a small flash in the distance.

"Slow it down," John spit out. "Manual Manipulation mode or whatever it was you called it."

The same buttons appeared on the screen but with an extra one that allowed him to move forward in addition to moving side to side. He was floored when the image physically followed the path of the bullet from one frame to the next. Heading back to the sidewalk, John picked up where he left off and proceeded step by step in conjunction with the video. He nearly walked into the light post that coincided with the small flash from the video. Running his fingers over the cold metal of the post, he found an unusual groove that just might have been the result of a bullet striking it at some point in its history. It had been painted over but the underlying blemish was definitely there.

John pulled out his cell phone and snapped a few photos of the post as well as a few of the surrounding area. Going back to the GEE, it took him a minute or two to figure out which direction the bullet had gone after the post altered its course. After waiting for traffic to clear, he scurried across the street and searched the wall for any indication that a bullet had found a home amongst the bricks.

Unless the wall had been repaired in the years since the attack, the missing bullet hadn't struck there. Before heading back to his car, John went over the video one last time and noticed something. Before Frazier's death, saplings had been planted sporadically on either side of the street as part of a beautify-the-city project. They'd grown quite a bit in the ensuing years. Though John expected a sapling struck by a bullet would have been visibly shattered, the young tree's trunk might have been pliant enough to absorb the impact, survive, and continue to grow, eventually encasing the bullet in its bark.

As he had with the lamppost, John ran his fingers over the bark of the sturdy tree until he found a noticeable bump. Closer examination assured him it wasn't a flaw in the tree itself but the missing bullet, embedded and grown over with time. Only a small seam was visible where the bark had come together again. He took more photos with his cell phone and waged a brief internal debate over whether he should go ahead and dig into the lump with his pocketknife. Ultimately he thought it would be best for Molina's case if someone official recovered the bullet. Or he should at least return first with something that could scan or x-ray the tree to be sure it really held a bullet. With his luck, someone would catch him hacking away at the tree and report him for destruction of public property.

When he returned to his car, John climbed in with an air of triumph. He knew that finding the bullet wouldn't be enough on its own, but there was something deeply satisfying about having found it at all.

John drove homeward, deciding he would refrain from his usual dinner out and opt for some leftover takeout in the fridge. He was still self-conscious about talking to the GEE where people might observe him; but if the car was moving, others were more likely to assume he was on the phone or singing along with the radio.

"Why don't we take that printer feature you were bragging about for a test run? I'm assuming, of course, you can get hold of the serial numbers for those missing bills for me," he said. "Ethan Tyler might let me have them if I called him up and asked, but I doubt that would be a brief conversation." He chuckled. "It's been long enough. Those bills might have found their way back into the system, and there could be a way to trace them back to the person who used them. Maybe. Probably not. It's a long shot, but it's worth trying, right?" He pulled into his driveway and was practically skipping on his way through the front door.

When he checked his pseudo-office, a list of six serial numbers was waiting on the floor. He knew he'd turned the machine off and pushed the paper tray back into place before leaving for the lawyer's office that morning. The machine didn't appear to have been touched or even to have turned on in his absence, yet the list was there. He shook his head, impressed. John's awareness of the GEE's impossibility and his surprise at what it could do were still there, but he was getting used to it and wasn't as overwhelmed as he had been.

Throwing some cold Chinese food on a plate and nuking it in the microwave, John settled in at the table he used as a desk. Glancing over the list of numbers, he searched the web for a way to look them up in some government database. After clicking through two pages of results, one of his lo mein noodles fell onto the keyboard. He reached for a napkin to clean it up and had the urge to smack himself.

"You can track the bills yourself, can't you?" he asked the GEE with his mouth full.

Would you like the current locations of each individual bill or would you prefer I trace a single bill back through its last hundred transactions?

"Trace a few of them back. But only go as far back as the transaction at that ATM, when Frazier made his withdrawal. We won't need anything prior. Oh, and if you can, include whichever bill was the first to re-enter circulation and whichever was most recent. It'll be nice to have a frame of reference. And toss in a separate list of any bills that are still missing, if there are any." John went back to eating but before he scraped the bottom of the carton, he heard the printer kick on and a few pages spat out onto the floor. When he picked them up, the power on the machine was off again. He tugged the small plastic tray out to catch future printouts. As much as he could use the exercise, he didn't want to wind up on his hands and knees every time the GEE printed something.

Resuming his seat and his lunch, John glanced over the transaction lists. Starting at the oldest date on each list, Frazier's withdrawal, he focused on the next chronological date and pulled a highlighter from a pencil cup on the windowsill behind him. The GEE had provided the information for three bills, including, he presumed, the ones he'd specified. None were used in the same transaction, but all had re-entered circulation after Randy Molina's trial was finished. In fact, he'd been sitting in prison for at least six months before the first of the bills from the mugging had been used again. The most recent had resurfaced less than a year ago, at a convenience store.

"All of them are back in circulation then?" he asked to be sure.

All of the serial numbers are accounted for.

"You must be able to hack into anything," John addressed the GEE with flattering admiration. "Could you get security video, for instance?"

I do not "hack," as you presume to understand it and you are not required to sweet-talk me to get what you need. I am here to help obtain what you require. So long as you are granted the necessary permissions, of course. Whose security footage is it you desire and what are the time parameters you're looking at?

"This Qwick Stop at the corner of Sixth and Main. I'll need the footage from eight months ago." John pointed at the line on the paper, then felt like an idiot when he realized the device couldn't possibly see what he was pointing at. "Do you have a scanner built in somewhere?"

Hold what you need scanned close to the screen and I can scan it.

John tilted his wrist and directed the GEE's screen toward the line he'd marked on the page in question. "Like this? I need the security video for the highlighted transaction."

There was a dull flash from the screen, not quite as bright as a camera's. John continued holding the paper and his arm in their awkward positions, wanting to be sure the device had the information it needed.

The screen called up a remarkably clear black-and-white video image and played through. There wasn't anything too spectacular about the transaction in question. A seemingly ordinary man approached the counter with two gallons of milk in hand. He handed over the grubby twenty and took his change, then left without incident. John knew that this was almost certainly the man who had killed Russell Frazier, but seeing him doing something so ordinary made the connection a tough one to swallow.

It didn't matter though. He was pretty sure he had what was needed for Ethan Tyler to file the appeal that would get innocent Randy Molina out of prison.

###  Chapter Fourteen

"You're sure you've found it?" Ethan Tyler said with eyebrows raised in skepticism.

"Absolutely," John assured him. "I decided to leave it where I found it so that it could be removed through the proper legal channels, whatever they are. But I do have some photos I took of the area, and I made up a diagram of what the bullet's path likely was." He handed over a small stack of photos and some of the documents referring to the missing bills.

John had waited until the next morning before returning to the lawyer's office. The GEE didn't appear pleased with his decision to get some work done for Professor Lucas' project. He chose to leave the device at home while he made a quick run to the library just before closing. He needed to make some quick scans of the materials Sarah had pulled out for him and reassure her that he wasn't acting too strangely. She wasn't easily assuaged, and the distracted way he kept checking the time only increased her suspicion and concern; but true to form, she didn't say anything. The GEE was beeping angrily when he returned home, like a smoke detector in need of new batteries. To appease the GEE, he'd worked to put together a file of relevant information he thought the lawyer could use.

"How did you get the list of serial numbers?" The attorney was incredulous.

"I have a contact in the police department," he said, skirting the truth without technically lying.

"Ah, yes," Ethan Tyler said, setting aside the information from John and pulling out from under one of the nearby boxes a copy of the newspaper article about finding Jessica Bailey. "The friend you went geocaching with, no doubt. I would have thought he was a little busy with the fallout from your lucky, albeit gruesome, discovery the other day. You see, I might not be as thorough or quick with my research as you, but I did look you up. Your results here," he indicated the discarded stack, "they're far beyond what I had imagined you'd be able to accomplish period, let alone in less than twenty-four hours. And while I may find them a little... suspect, they'll put some more gas in the tank for this case and I'll take what I can get."

"Will it be enough?" John asked, uncertain what more he could hand over without raising further alarms in the lawyer's mind.

"You think you can get more?" The eyebrows jumped again and John knew he'd done just that.

"Not sure what I'll be able to scare up with a little more time," John answered vaguely.

"Well, if you can get more, it certainly won't hurt," Ethan Tyler said after a pause. He seemed to have accepted that he wouldn't get anything else out of John, and he reminded himself that this wasn't a witness that needed to be cracked. "I'll do what I can to get that bullet out of the tree and push for someone to look into the issue of the missing money, but they're both long shots. No one's going to want to stir this up again, not after so many years and not for a bump in a tree and some money that could have been picked up by anyone after it had washed down a storm drain and tossed around for God only knows how long."

"So you're saying this is all worthless?"

"Not worthless but nowhere near enough," the lawyer said as he poked at the file from John. "I could file another appeal but I can't do it in good conscious without Randy signing off on it, and the only thing that might get him on board is if the guy who really did it is caught or confesses. Somehow I doubt that's something you can drag out of whatever bag of tricks you've got going for you."

"It does sound unlikely," John admitted as he stood and picked up his messenger bag, preparing to leave. "But I believe in miracles, and if anyone deserves one it's Randy Molina." He paused at the door. "And Russell Frazier and his family too. I don't believe that he'd want an innocent man sitting in prison for what happened to him, and I doubt his family would want that either."

He closed the door to Ethan Tyler's office and smiled at the confusion, hesitation, and hope that were fighting for control of the man's features. That smile was quickly replaced with a frown and furrowed brow. John eyed the GEE on his wrist and headed for his car.

"I want you to find me the name of the man who actually killed Russell Frazier," John addressed the device in a firm voice, issuing a command rather than a request. "It must be in one of your files attached to the Frazier case." He glanced at his wrist but didn't see any indication that the GEE was working. Not that it was particularly loud while it worked. So far it had only been noisy when trying to attract his attention. "You can send anything you find to the printer," he said in a gentler tone as he returned his attention to the road in front of him.

But when he walked into the dining room, there were no pages waiting for him. Putting his bag down, he took the device off his wrist and pushed a few of its mainly decorative buttons. "Hello? Wake up. What's going on? I thought you said you were here to help me," John said defensively. "Was I not polite enough about it? I'm sorry. Please will you find me the name of the man who killed Russell Frazier?" His voice was torn between earnest politeness and frustrated sarcasm. After all the times the gadget had interrupted his life in the past week, John resented its apparent decision to ignore him now that he was making a real request.

The GEE acknowledged his brief rant by calling up what appeared to be an option menu. Murder of Russell Frazier – Video; Trial of Randall Molina – Transcripts, Video; Additional Information. "What's this?" John asked. "Why haven't you shown me..." he sighed. He wanted to calm down by telling himself it was ridiculous to let an inanimate object get to him, though he wasn't quite convinced of the "inanimate" portion of his rationalization. The device was almost certainly sentient. "Let me see the 'Additional Information' you have for this case."

There was a single name John did not recognize when it appeared alongside other files regarding Russell Frazier's family, Randy Molina's family, and information on those who investigated, prosecuted, and defended the case. Landon Saunders.

"Landon Saunders," John said, rolling it around in his mouth. "He's the one who did it, huh?" At the mention of the name, the screen pulled up what looked like a DMV photo of the man in question. After a moment, it switched to a mug shot. "He's already in the system? Can you print the information related to whatever it was he was arrested for?"

The printer spat out a few pages and John devoured the information they provided. Saunders had been arrested several times over the years, beginning in his teens. It was generally for petty theft, but the charges were usually dropped. Notations in some of the earlier cases indicated the items were either returned or compensation was made, avoiding any kind of trial or jail time. There was a larger gap in his records in the months after Russell Frazier's death. Either Saunders had taken a break from his criminal ways or he had gotten better about not getting caught. John was inclined to believe it was the latter, since the last arrest on record had occurred five months earlier when an electronics store reported several thousand dollars in gift cards and accessories stolen. The store assumed it was one of its employees, and the police had treated it as an inside job during their initial investigation. At least, that was what they thought until Saunders persistently attempted to redeem the gift cards, which having never been purchased, were never activated in the store's computer system. An alert employee had brought his suspicions to a manager, who contacted the police. Saunders had pled guilty in exchange for a shorter jail term.

"So he's already in jail then." John slapped the papers down on the table. "Is there any way you can tell when he'll get out? Will he be paroled or what?"

Landon Saunders is currently scheduled for release in two months, three weeks, and two days.

"Ethan Tyler said that without the guy coming forward and confessing, they probably won't be able to do anything about getting Randy Molina released," John mused quietly to himself. He was staring at the device but looking past it, his mind scrambling to find a way to get Saunders to confess. Appealing to his humanity probably wouldn't work. The chance that he didn't know someone else had been convicted was impossibly small, and that knowledge hadn't been enough for him to come forward. But he had cut a deal before. Maybe there was something else John could use to... encourage Saunders to confess the truth.

"The video of the attack on Russell Frazier, can you find and print an image of Saunders holding the gun when it went off?" he addressed the GEE before continuing to speculate aloud. "Maybe he can be scared into coming forward. Maybe if he thinks there was a witness who can point the finger at him, he'll come forward on his own and try to cut a deal for his cooperation."

I am capable of isolating that image and printing it but such action is not authorized at this time.

"You can but you won't?" John scoffed. "Whose authority do you need? I thought this was exactly the kind of thing you were supposed to help me with?"

Your request has been overridden by a higher authority.

"A higher authority?" John sneered. "Why? What's wrong with getting this guy to admit to what he's done? Doesn't Russell Frazier deserve justice? And what about Randy Molina? Saunders has basically stolen the last few years of his life from him too."

The problem lies not in your goals but your methods.

"This guy killed Frazier but I can't encourage him to rectify it by scaring him a little. Well, that's some line that I'm not allowed to cross," John snapped.

In this instance, "encourage" and "scare" are merely euphemisms for blackmail. Stop lying to yourself and use the brains you were given. You can and will figure out another, better way to accomplish your goals than resorting to the kinds of criminal behavior you're working to remedy.

John's cheeks were warm with shame. He knew he was better than this. What he needed was patience and inspiration. But the arguments in favor of his initial idea continued to scream through his mind and tumbled from his mouth, though he managed to even out his tone. "He needs to repent," John argued. "He must feel guilt on some level already. The photos would just be a nudge."

If you don't care for "blackmail," perhaps "extortion" is more your style. Or "coercion." Or "manipulation."

"If there's another option out there, then I don't see it," John hissed.

Then you are not looking close enough.

John clenched his jaw in fury, but he had reached a point where he was beginning to turn the anger in on himself. He had told himself enough times over the years that what he needed to do was look closer, that he hadn't tried hard enough the last time he'd gone over the files or through his memory of those days. It was one of the thousand thoughts that went through his head whenever something reminded him of Mia. John wondered whether that was why he had pushed himself so hard when it came to finding Jessica Bailey. Her disappearance had brought back so many fears from his childhood, along with the promises he had made to himself and to anyone who would listen.

Maybe that was his problem. Russell Frazier's case had sparked his curiosity and he did care about getting an innocent man out of jail, but he hadn't made it personal in the same way that finding Jessica Bailey had been. He had focused more on Randy Molina and the injustice of his incarceration instead of Russell Frazier and his family's suffering. The lawyer's ranting against the way their grief had been used as an excuse to sweep Molina and his trial under the rug must have gotten to John more than he'd realized. Forgetting or ignoring the primary victim, he'd let the difficulties affect him and had attempted to cut corners. If it had been Mia's case, he would have dug down and found more of himself to pour into it. He kept the image of her in his mind as he tried to do just that.

"Okay. Other options. I have the guy's name. I have where the bills are. If I can somehow tie him to each of the bills' reappearances..." he thought aloud. "There is no central database that registers the serial numbers of each bill used in cash transactions. But that's just something you can do, isn't it? Like the videos and manipulation of things where there were no witnesses or cameras." John felt the frustration rising in him again so he closed his eyes, pictured Mia, and breathed deeply. He found his mind going over the words of a prayer his mother had repeated each time she'd taken him to church to light a candle for Mia. It calmed his mind and refocused him. "There has to be something about the money that can tie this guy to Frazier, some way to prove he took it and didn't just find it later in a storm drain."

The GEE pulled up the footage of Saunders at the Qwick Stop and froze on the image of him handing over the cash for the milk he was buying. John pulled the screen closer to his face and squinted at the image. "There's something... off." It was like a photo you give to a child, asking them to find the hidden image within or to locate the item that doesn't belong. "Can you magnify the image in some way so that I can control the area..." John trailed off. The device had focused in on the extended hands of Saunders and the cashier as the bill changed hands. There was a smudge across the face of the bill, as if the ink had been wet and someone's finger had smudged the portrait a little beyond its frame.

John found the stack of papers from the day before and pulled out the transaction list for the last bill to re-enter circulation. "Where is that bill now? The one from that video?"

It is in the register for lane number five at the Shopper's Basket approximately seven miles away.

John strapped the GEE back onto his wrist and went looking for his keys. Double-checking the cash in his wallet, he paused. "Before I get all the way down to the grocery store, can you confirm that the mark on the bill is a bloody fingerprint and not some smeared food or something?"

When tests are conducted on the bill in question, the results will show that the fingerprint is a match to Landon Saunders' right thumb and the blood is a match to the late Russell Frazier.

"It better," John said as he slid his wallet into his back pocket. "I'm ready to put this case behind me and get back to my real job." But there was extra energy in his step as he headed to his car, knowing he was helping bring the truth to the surface.

###  Chapter Fifteen

"Mr. Daniels," Ethan Tyler said with obvious surprise as John entered the office. "I wouldn't have bet on seeing you again, let alone so soon."

"Well, once I get started on something, I have a difficult time letting go." John smiled a little slyly. "But, I also happened to get a little lucky." He held out a plastic bag containing the bloodstained bill.

Ethan Tyler took it with a questioning look on his face. At some point during the course of the trial, he had memorized the serial numbers for each of the missing bills. John was expecting to see his eyebrows jump again but they weren't alone this time. Ethan Tyler was suddenly on his feet behind his desk, the chair he had been sitting in knocked violently against one of the half-filled filing cabinets. "You actually found one of the bills?" he asked in disbelief. "And, is that what I think it is?"

John smiled and handed over a manila folder with some reports he'd had the GEE print off. "I checked and it's definitely not chocolate. You'll want to have it verified by your own lab, of course. My guy was just doing me a quick favor and was able to match the fingerprint and give me a blood type, but it is the same as Russell Frazier's."

"Your guy got this turned around awfully quick," the attorney remarked, but he was too floored by the break he'd just been handed to dwell on it. He would scrape together whatever an independent lab would cost, but first he'd have to put together some sort of motion to get access to Frazier's DNA. If he played his cards right, he might be able to get the state to run the tests themselves. His disbelief finally won out. "How did you find this?"

"I was at the grocery store and it turned up in my change," John said. "The fingerprint caught my attention and when I looked at it closer, the serial number struck me as familiar. I checked it against the list I had and decided to call in a favor and follow my hunch."

"You even have information about the guy who belongs to the print? You definitely are thorough, I'll give you that. You could make a killing if you wanted to get licensed as a private investigator, and I can assure you I would make sure you had work and might recommend you to a few of my colleagues so long as I didn't require your services for anything pressing." Ethan Tyler was impressed and hoped he had found the first of many useful resources – and he hoped that encouraging John and offering to bring him other clients would earn him a handy discount down the line.

"I'll have to think about it," John said with a hesitant smile. "I like that I get to pick and choose what jobs I take, at least for now. But I appreciate the advice and the offer of work." John began to gather his things as Ethan Tyler continued to pore over the report and test results. "I'll check in with you from time to time; see how things are going as far as getting Randy Molina released. It's pretty much just a matter of time from here, but if anything else comes up I'd like to know." He inched his way toward the door and had it opened before the lawyer looked up again.

"I don't know why you decided to help with this, I don't know how you managed to get hold of this, and I'm not sure I want to know, but I do want to thank you. This will convince Randy to let me move forward and should finally get him out." The expression of gratitude on his face was unexpected and genuine. John decided that his first impressions of the man had been correct after all. He may not be the most sophisticated of men, but Ethan Tyler believed in Molina's innocence and had only yielded to his client's wishes.

"You and Mr. Molina are both welcome," John said before closing the door and heading home. He spent the entire drive with a wonderfully light, elated feeling in his chest, buoying him up. Switching on the radio, he sang along, making up the lyrics when he couldn't remember the real ones and disregarding the fact that he was undeniably off-key.

John stopped abruptly as he turned onto his street and spotted another vehicle at his house. He turned the volume down but relaxed when he recognized Kiel's car. Then he remembered how horrible he'd been to his friend when they'd spoken a few days before. In the wake of his accomplishment, John went over his behavior and was ashamed. Kiel had so many things to worry about, so many responsibilities at work. He didn't need John making the kinds of requests he had during the last two weeks and putting Kiel's job in jeopardy. In all their years of friendship, Kiel had never asked John to risk his livelihood that way. He hadn't been fair to Kiel and was ready to apologize. But, if he was in the wrong, and he obviously was, why had Kiel come to find him?

As John pulled up on the parking brake and grabbed his bag from the passenger seat, he noticed Kiel was not alone. When John had pulled in, Kiel had exited and moved to his own passenger door. The woman who emerged waved off his offer of assistance and made her way toward John under her own steam.

"Kiel," John said curtly. He wanted to apologize but he hadn't been expecting an audience and it put him on edge. "Ma'am. Would you two like to come inside for a drink or something to eat? I'm not really sure what I've got, but I'm sure I can find something."

"If you don't mind," Kiel said, ushering the unidentified woman to follow John into the house.

John led them through the front hall, past the overrun office-dining room and directly into the kitchen. He pulled out a pair of chairs at the small table and waved his arm for them to sit. He put his bag on the floor and crossed to the fridge. "I've got some soda, iced tea, milk, and cider. I can also put a kettle on if you'd rather have regular tea, but I don't know how old the tea bags are so you might regret it."

"I'll just have water," Kiel said gruffly.

"Iced tea would be lovely, thank you," the woman requested.

"Coming right up." John opened a cabinet and pulled out a few glasses. He poured and waited for Kiel to get started on what would undoubtedly be an interesting explanation.

"This is Grace Bailey, Jessica Bailey's aunt," Kiel said quietly. "She asked if she could meet you. I probably should have called first but I didn't think you would mind."

"Mr. Daniels," the woman began.

"Please, call me John." He handed her the glass of iced tea.

She accepted it with a brief nod, placing it on the table after the tiniest sip. John thought he saw her hands shaking a little, but she clasped them in her lap before continuing with what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech. While she had seemed old on her way into the house, she now didn't seem much more than fifty. She was more tired than old; stressed and exhausted, probably from worry over her niece.

"I wanted to thank you for finding Jessica," she began, looking primarily down at her hands and only stealing glances up at John's face. "Lieutenant Samuels explained that it was mostly just luck and that the two of you were in the right place at the right time..."

"It really was," John interrupted, perching on the nearby counter, having run out of chairs for the table. "Finding her certainly wasn't what I expected when I talked Kiel – er, Lieutenant Samuels into trying geocaching with me. And please, let me tell you how sorry I am for your loss."

"It's not just that you found her," Grace Bailey insisted. "One of the other officers mentioned what you did for her after you found her, that you stayed with her." Tears had sprung to the woman's eyes and she paused to take a few sips of her iced tea, swallowing back the lump in her throat along with the tea. "He said it was your idea, that you insisted she not be left alone out there through the night. Knowing that she wasn't... that there was someone there with her, even if there wasn't anything that could be done... Well, it just means more than you can imagine. So, thank you. Thank you for bringing her home and... being there... for her."

"It's what I would have wanted someone to do for my sister," John said quietly.

Grace Bailey looked up at him with curiosity peeking through her pain. He could see that she was too polite to pry. Kiel sat and sipped his water at regular intervals, as though he were automated and not consciously present. He almost had a harder time hearing the details of Mia's case than John did. It was his job to solve these kinds of cases. Sure, it meant a lot to John as her brother, but he'd been a kid when it happened and resolving these cases was, literally, Kiel's job. He took it very personally when one got away from him.

"My little sister, Mia, disappeared when she was seven," John began. "I was nine. Our... well, her dad split when we were little and Mom had a tough time making ends meet. One thing led to another and since we didn't have any other family, we ended up in the foster system while Mom got back on her feet. They couldn't keep us together, but Mia and I did get to see each other pretty often. Plus, we had time with Mom regularly, and from the beginning she fought to get us back."

John had taken a mug for himself but hadn't put anything in it. He needed something in his hands for this part of his tale, something he could grip till his knuckles went white. "After two years of making do with that situation, Mia disappeared one day. Her foster parents were having a parent-teacher conference for one of her foster brothers so they let her stay outside and play on the playground. They said they could see her from the window of the classroom but they didn't notice her vanish. When they went to leave they couldn't find her. The police and Child Services both investigated but didn't find much. There had been a report filed a week or two earlier that a man was seen lurking around the school but he was long gone by the time the police got there. No one knew who he was, and he didn't attract attention after that first report. They couldn't find him. It was only speculation that he was involved anyway. They never found her."

There was a beat of silence before Grace Bailey quietly cleared her throat and spoke up. "Your poor mother."

"She took it hard," John admitted. "After what happened, she had less trouble getting me back but I don't know how much help I was."

"Of course you were," Grace said at the same moment that Kiel muttered, "Come on, John."

"She blamed Child Services for what happened. She was stricter and treated me like I might break. She would slowly work herself up, whispering to herself and checking on things four or five times before she was able to let them be. The only thing that seemed to comfort her was going to the church at the end of our street so she could light a candle for Mia and pray. She would be shaking, trembling, hardly able to speak a word of sense to anyone we met on the walk. But as soon as she knelt down in that church, she would become quiet and still as a statue. The calm wouldn't last long. A couple of days, maybe a week. But it was something. Maybe it would have lasted longer if she didn't insist on swinging around and stopping by the police station on our way home from the church each time."

"A woman of faith," Grace said with a nod of understanding. "I believe that my Jessie is watching over me now. And I'm glad her suffering is over. Wondering, imagining what she might be going through... That was... Well..." She trailed off as she stirred up her still-fresh grief.

"I think that was what got to her," John confessed. "The relief on her face when she died... I know that as Mom passed away she finally saw my sister again. That, more than any of the statistics, has me convinced that Mia is dead. She was waiting for my mother and she'll be waiting for me, watching over me in the meantime."

"You lost your mother too? I'm so sorry. How old were you?"

"Eleven."

An uncomfortable silence fell. John knew he'd probably said too much to the woman, but there were few who truly understood. He could tell he'd gone too far when he sensed her genuine sympathy shifting into pity. He didn't want pity. He had no use for it.

Luckily, the quiet caught Kiel's attention. He finished his glass of water with a noisy gulp and held the empty vessel out for John to take. "We really ought to be getting back," he said, pushing the chair out from the table and standing. Grace Bailey followed suit, leaving her glass of iced tea on the table, hardly touched.

"Yes, there are still a few arrangements I must take care of before the funeral," Grace said. "There seems to be more media coverage now than when she first went missing. I can't help but wonder... But it won't bring her back now. Forward. We can only go forward." She seemed to be disappearing back into herself, perhaps as a protection from the people who would soon be prying into her grief again.

John followed them back through the house to the foyer. Kiel was halfway through the front door when Grace Bailey put her hand on his arm to stop him momentarily. "Thank you, again, Mr. Dan – John," she corrected. "I'll be sure to put your mother and sister in my prayers. And I hope that you find the truth about what happened to her someday, that you find the closure you deserve."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bailey," John said with a nod.

"Please, call me Grace," she said. "And, you probably won't want to deal with the attention, and if you don't, I completely understand; but if you wanted to attend Jessie's funeral, you are more than welcome and I'll be sure they give you a decent seat."

"Oh," John uttered. It hadn't crossed his mind to go to the funeral of the girl whose dead body he'd kept watch over through what was easily the weirdest and most horrible night he could remember.

"You don't have to decide now," she said quickly. "I just need you to know that you would be welcome." She turned back to Kiel and resumed her trek to his car.

John followed them out to the driveway. After Kiel closed the passenger door behind Grace Bailey and headed around to the driver's side, John called out just loud enough to get his attention. Kiel paused with the door open and one hand atop the roof of his car. "I'm sorry about what I said the other day," John said quickly. "We good?"

Kiel nodded. "We're good. We'll talk soon."

John waved as they drove off down the street and disappeared around the corner. He went back into the house and through to the kitchen to retrieve the messenger bag. He brought it to his office and gathered the papers Ethan Tyler hadn't needed into a file. Though he was tempted to throw them in the trash or shred them, he instead put them in the only empty drawer of his filing cabinet. It had been set aside for his billing paperwork, but so far that hadn't required more than a three-ring binder. John felt like there should be something in that drawer for the Jessica Bailey case so he dug around in his workbag until he pulled out the articles he and Sarah had looked up the week before. It was the beginning of a disturbing collection.

He went to the kitchen again and dug a beer out of the fridge. Taking a few long swigs, he flopped down on the sofa in the den. He turned on the evening news but muted it after the weather report transitioned into a story about the Jessica Bailey case. The three men they'd caught disposing of her body in the woods had squealed on their boss. He'd been taken into custody again with additional charges filed and was being held without bail.

John looked down at the GEE on his wrist. He glanced up at the television again only to see a camera crew live outside Grace Bailey's house, where John spotted Kiel shielding the woman from the throng of reporters, who were urging her to voice her opinion of the man charged with being responsible for her niece's death.

His eyes traveled back to the device lashed to him. He cleared his throat first, but the words still had a difficult time making it out. "Can you pull up the files for Mia Daniels? Please." John braced himself, barely peeking at the screen as he thought back to how the video files simply appeared and began playing. He told himself he would be able to handle it, to hear Mia's cries for help or whatever other horrible things she had endured, but when no video file appeared, a piece of him was relieved. The momentary relief gave way to a new wave of frustration.

The files regarding Mia Daniels' disappearance are inaccessible at this time.

"You're kidding," he told the device. "Maybe I'm not ready for a video or something, but you've got to let me read whatever police reports there are. Kiel's already let me see everything he could find so there probably isn't anything I haven't seen before."

You have not accomplished enough of your mission. There are other people you need to help before you will be ready for what you will find in that file.

"And who is it that's deciding when I'm ready for that? How much more do I have to do? How much longer will I be expected to wait before I finally learn what happened to Mia? I've already been waiting over twenty years." John found himself on his feet, shouting at his wrist.

There is still a great deal for you to learn. You have proven very patient but you have other abilities as well that put you in a position to be helpful to others. You have a higher calling that must be answered.

"I'm fed up with waiting for answers," John yelled. He began pushing the buttons on the device as he continued to holler at it. "I was fine. Or, if not fine, I was at least at peace. Until you showed up and now you're pushing me to watch these horrible things happen to strangers, to help their families find justice and get closure. And yet I'm not allowed a single answer. What about Mia? Why doesn't she get justice? Where's my closure?"

In reply, the GEE appeared to shut itself off.

"No," John said through gritted teeth as he punched at the buttons harder than before. "You don't get to turn off on me. Not when you've refused to turn off all the times I tried to get you to leave me alone."

But the device remained unresponsive. He pulled it off of his wrist and wound up to throw it against the wall, wondering if it would shatter. However, he thought better of it and instead tossed the GEE gently onto the abandoned sofa. The triumph he'd felt earlier after his meeting with Ethan Tyler had disappeared and he wanted nothing more than to wash the day away.

He left the television on as he headed down the hall to take a shower and prepare for bed. It remained on as he moved about the house after his shower, muttering to himself and puttering, tidying things that weren't out of place. It was something his mother used to do that he wasn't aware he'd internalized. By the time he'd redirected and expended that frustrated energy, the eleven o'clock news was beginning.

A large red breaking news banner was flashing across the bottom of the screen but with the mute on, John found it easy to ignore. He turned the television off and headed to bed.

###  Chapter Sixteen

At first, John thought that there must be a woodpecker attacking the siding of his house. But he doubted any bird would know or use his name. His eyes flew open but slammed shut against the morning light streaming in through the window. On the backs of his eyelids, he thought he saw the ghost of a face peering in at him.

The knocking began again. John stirred, shielded his eyes, and found Sarah waving at him through his bedroom window. Instinctively he pulled the blankets up to his chin. He had debated taking one of the bedrooms upstairs when he moved in, but after ruling out the master bedroom, since he couldn't bring himself to sleep in the room where his father had died, John found the prospect of poking through the other rooms, picking one, and cleaning it out to be more trouble than the extra privacy was worth. He really had to make more of an effort to remember to shut the blinds before he passed out at night.

John rolled out of bed and threw a robe on over his ratty pajamas. He ended up waiting at the front door while Sarah maneuvered her way around the side of the house. She popped up with a brown paper bag in hand. "I brought doughnuts." John ushered her inside and to the kitchen.

"What are you doing here so early? And what time is it?" he grumbled as he filled the coffee machine and dug through the cabinet in search of a filter.

"It's almost ten," Sarah said defensively. "You know I wouldn't just show up unannounced anywhere before nine. I tried to call, but you didn't answer your cell so I figured I'd stop by. Thought you'd be glued to the television like the rest of the world seems to be. I never thought you'd still be in bed this late."

"Why? Did something happen?" John asked with a yawn. Leaning against the counter, he looked like he might pass out again.

Sarah moved over to where the coffee was just about finished percolating and poured a mug for John. She shoved it into his hands so the steam rose right into his face, then took a second mug for herself. "Come and see." She pulled him along to the den, pausing to grab the bag of doughnuts and a few napkins. She pushed John gently onto the sofa and turned the television on. John pulled the GEE out from under him and shoved it behind a cushion.

Even though it was well past the time for the morning news to have transitioned into the daily round of talk shows, the early-morning anchors were looking worn and weary behind their desks. Sarah flipped through several stations but the same story seemed to be on every channel. She finally settled on the local news station, which relieved John who was starting to get dizzy.

"Once again," the exhausted anchor was saying. "We have been looking into this since the website appeared last night. I apologize for anyone trying to get through to the hotline we set up a few hours ago. The line has been overrun with callers. Our investigators are researching each claim connected to the site and we will continue to feature your reactions and the impact of these developments throughout the day. We have reached out to local police but thus far they have not issued a formal statement. They did say that they are asking members of their staff to work overtime while the situation continues to unfold."

John squinted at the television and snacked on his Boston cream doughnut. "I know it's your favorite," Sarah said through a chocolate-frosted mouthful.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "You know, I really owe you for this. I went to the grocery store the other day and completely forgot..."

"Shh! Watch." She directed his attention to the screen where they had cut to a picture-in-picture interview with someone on location in what looked like just another newsroom.

"I've spoken with several experts who have analyzed less than a fraction of the videos that have been forwarded to us by victims' family members, and so far they have not been able to find anything to explain how or where the upsetting and potentially illuminating footage came from. There is another team here focusing solely on tracing the origins of the website, hoping to track it back to the original server and IP address, but that's proving to be more difficult than anticipated. All they've managed to confirm so far are the same facts we've been reporting for a while now. The site, www.secretsout.info, appeared at approximately a quarter to seven last night. At that same time, hundreds of thousands of families – some are speculating the number may actually be in the millions – received e-mails with links to the website where they were able to access documents related to mostly criminal cases, and in many instances video of the crimes in question."

John began to cough and sputter. The whole thing was sounding suspiciously familiar and was putting a queasy feeling in his stomach.

"See, when I saw it on the news this morning," Sarah began, "the first thing I thought of was that device you opened that showed us that girl getting murdered."

"Shh!" He put his hand lightly over her mouth, turned the volume up, and changed to another station, where a pair of reporters was discussing the results of their rapid investigation. "In the video of the mugging, you can clearly see his face. When we checked the names that were included in the file with police reports and the DMV, we found the incident documented. You would have to be blind not to see that these two are one and the same person."

"At the same time," the second reporter took over. "The area of the street where the attack occurred has absolutely no cameras. None of the surrounding buildings or shops have security cameras with a view of this portion of the street. There are no traffic cameras in the vicinity. The angle of the video doesn't match up with any of the windows either. That same police report on file includes the victim's statement that no one was around and notations that canvassing the next day also failed to turn up any witnesses. Yet somehow this video has captured this act of violence."

"It's remarkable and impossible," the first reporter said in disbelief. "I don't know whether to believe it."

"Even with all that we've found so far?" the second asked.

"You spoke with the same experts I did. The angle of the video is physically impossible for anyone to have achieved in that environment. They would have been about twenty feet above the roof of the building opposite the scene. And if someone had footage like this, this clear, this damning, why didn't they come forward at the time?"

John switched to another station.

"The FBI has scheduled a press conference for this afternoon, but in the meantime it has issued a statement regarding the "Secrets Out" website: "At this time we are working to have the website located at www.secretsout.info shut down. We are working to trace the origins of the site to determine how the materials published were compiled and the veracity of both the official and unofficial information they provide. We would like to remind the public that if and when you have information pertaining to a criminal case, you should please bring it to the attention of the proper authorities. We implore whoever is behind this website to please come forward and cooperate."

Another station.

"The quality of these videos is superior to anything I've ever seen a security camera produce. We have sent a team to the scene of the crime to see if they can replicate the quality in a re-enactment, and so far they have been unable to match that of the video, even using the highest-grade professional equipment. And yet there are none of the telltale indicators of manipulation or editing in the original video. Whoever produced these certainly knew what he was doing."

"Are you suggesting this is the work of an individual?"

"There is no possible way that this could be orchestrated by an individual. Forget what goes into coordinating such a difficult shoot; the sheer volume of videos being reported is more than any single person could accomplish in a lifetime. I believe an organization of some sort must be at the bottom of this, though no one has come forward to claim credit."

"The question remains: Who would go to such lengths? Who would create something like this? And why?"

Another channel.

"I didn't think much of it at first. I thought it might be spam so I was going to delete it, but when I saw the story on the news last night I called it back up and clicked on the link. There were a few prompts. I've heard some say it was like signing up for something or creating an account, but I thought it was weirder than that. More like trying to access an account you already had set up but you forgot the login name or password. Anyway, that didn't take more than a minute or two and then I was looking at a video of the attack. I was watching the guy pulling on my purse and hitting me over the head, knocking me to the ground and running off. It was... surreal."

"Would you say it was traumatizing to relive that horrible moment?"

"Traumatizing? Sure, but it was also validating. There were so many things about that night that are burned into my memory; the grit on the pavement biting my palms when the bag slid off my shoulder and I fell; the ringing in my ears after the last blow to my head. But I always wondered if there was something more I could have done too. Watching it like this, I know now there's nothing more I could have tried, that I really did do everything I could. And now I have his name. Now I can show the police exactly who did this. He can deny it all he wants, but I know it was him."

"Have you called the police yet?"

"I couldn't get through, but just knowing now that something can be done helps."

"So you had nothing to do with the creation of this video?"

"Absolutely not. If I had known I was being recorded, I would have done everything I could to find that person and get the tape or whatever it is so the case could move forward. Nothing's happened with it for over a year. If I'd known, I would have done something. I'm just glad they finally did turn it over, whoever they are. I'd like to know what took them so long and give them a piece of my mind, but I'll take finding the son of a bitch that attacked me and watching him go to jail."

Another network.

"We managed to get a comment from one officer indicating that not all of the calls they're receiving are from victims or their families. A surprising number of people are calling to turn themselves in or make confessions. That was all the officer was able to tell us, but we will let you know more as soon as we can get a more official comment from the department's chief or the city's commissioner."

Another station.

"Before I contacted the police, I found an attorney and discussed the best way to handle the situation; but yes, I did ultimately decide to turn myself over to authorities. I honestly could not remember what happened that night. I'd like to say that seeing that video brought it all back but it didn't. I am terribly sorry for what happened and want everyone to know that, with my lawyer's help, I intend to seek assistance for the problem that I now see I have."

"Are you hoping that your cooperation will help you when it comes time to go to trial?"

"I will be discussing the options with my attorney after he meets with prosecutors, but I hope we can reach an agreement that doesn't require a trial. I just want to get the help that I can finally admit I need and put this regrettable incident behind me."

John clicked the button again.

"We have been able to determine that the website and the e-mails all came from a single source, but so far our attempts to trace it have led nowhere. Each time we think we've found the right trail, we follow it to a dead end. Of course, our resources are limited. Our team and the experts we've spoken with remain hopeful that the authorities will have more success in their pursuit."

"You should grab your computer and check your e-mail," Sarah said, interrupting John's concentration on the news coverage. "You might have one of those e-mails waiting for you. I went on earlier to see if they had anything about Mia, but there was an 'Access Denied' window. There has to be something there, though," she reasoned aloud.

"I don't think there'll be an e-mail for me," John admitted. "Or if there is, I'll probably get the same 'Access Denied' message."

"You're Mia's brother," Sarah said, as if he really needed reminding. "From what they're saying it sounds like victims or their family members get to decide whether to share the details of their cases."

"Worth a shot I guess, but I'm not holding my breath." He led Sarah to his office. She watched over his shoulder while he opened the e-mail and clicked the link. The website welcomed him back.

"I thought you hadn't been online yet today?" Sarah asked, confused. "You're supposed to answer questions or create a login or account or something."

"I think I know where this came from," John was saying as he followed his way through the site to Mia's file. Sure enough, when he clicked to try and access the information, he received the same notification the GEE had given him the evening before: Inaccessible at this time. "That's what I thought."

"That doesn't make any sense," Sarah said in disbelief. She nudged John out of the chair and tried searching the site again, backing out and trying to access the file, receiving the same message each time. She began to punch the keys harder so John began to shut the lid of the laptop onto her fingers.

"Cool it," John said. "I'm gonna need that later." He grabbed the laptop and headed back to the den where the television was still on.

"The FBI has reissued their statement from earlier this morning even as they are pushing the time of their press conference back. They haven't explained the reason behind this delay, but as we discover more about the website it's becoming clear that some of the criminal activity declared on the site might be related to major public figures, including politicians, celebrities, public officials, and more. Unfortunately, many of these tantalizing files remain locked to the general public. A number of statements have been issued throughout the course of the day from various implicated individuals while others are unreachable. Why some of these files are protected remains a mystery, and so does the identity of their source."

"I need more time to figure out how." John addressed the television's screen and muted the endless stream of speculating newscasters. "That's why." He turned to Sarah but she didn't seem too surprised.

"I thought it might have something to do with that thing," Sarah said. John pulled the GEE from behind the pillow but didn't make any attempt to turn it on. He figured it would turn itself on soon enough. "How did it happen and how did you not know about it?"

John took a deep breath and launched into an account of his frustrated tantrum the night before. "I don't know if it was something I did as far as when I was pushing the buttons or if it did it on its own just to spite me. The thing seems to have a mind of its own."

"To spite you?" Sarah said skeptically.

"Well, not spite necessarily, but it's not exactly clear in what it wants me to do or how to do it," John said. "It seems to have more to say on what I'm doing wrong than on what I'm supposed to be doing."

"It'll warm up to you." She scooted closer to him on the sofa and rubbed his back a bit with her hand. "Just give it some time. You should think about what you're going to do about this media mess. Are you going to claim responsibility and cooperate or are you going to do this the hard way?" There was an edge of playfulness in her approach, but it was difficult to maintain while the muted anchors continued to gesticulate and voicelessly disseminate information alongside speculation. It was amazing they'd managed to stay so decidedly stone-faced for so long, especially now after catching the approaching scent of scintillating scandal.

"Won't be much good to do anything like that unless I know what I'm doing," John said frankly. "They'd be sorely disappointed if I came forward right now. 'How did you do it?' 'I have no clue.' 'Where did you get your information?' 'This thing that looks like the bastard child of a smart phone and a wrist watch.' 'Where did that come from?' 'A mysterious box addressed to me that showed up out of nowhere at the library.' Somehow I don't think bringing attention to myself is the answer."

"Probably not," Sarah agreed. "Well, if you ever need someone to talk to about it, you know you can count on me. I promise, I won't say anything to anyone. No matter how high the reward money goes."

"There's a reward?" John asked with an edge of terror coloring his voice.

Sarah looked mildly mortified. "No, there's no reward. Not that I know of anyway. I was just kidding." She could see John starting to calm down so she began apologizing. "It was a bad joke. I'm sorry. But even if someone does offer a reward, you know you can trust me not to say anything."

"Of course I know I can trust you." It was John's turn to reassure her. He understood that he'd overreacted. "And you're right; it's probably just a matter of time before they do scrape together some sort of reward for information on 'the Source,' on me. I think I'll just lay low for a while. Watch how this unfolds and figure out how this works," he indicated the GEE, "before I do anything."

"If you need anything," Sarah said, getting up from the sofa and gathering up their coffee mugs, "you know my number. I'll take care of this and then I've got to get to work. Mrs. Jensen called in sick today."

###  Chapter Seventeen

John hardly left his house during the next week. His neighbors might have thought he had finally taken a vacation except that he emerged at precisely four o'clock each day to retrieve his mail. Sarah didn't drop by again but the two did talk on the phone each night, mostly rehashing the day's developments according to the news networks. Not much changed as far as anyone making progress in tracking down the source of the site and e-mails but they were tallying the numbers related to the site. The website was available in no less than 1,000 languages and dialects with cases documented in more than 150 countries. They were still trying to figure out whether some nations' limited technological advances affected the data thus far reported.

The FBI had already reached out to Interpol, while an international investigative committee had been proposed and voted on during an emergency UN session. It had taken only twenty-eight hours before the reward that John and Sarah had joked about was announced. The exorbitant amount offered had already been upped twice. Sarah supposed that as speculations about the numerous inaccessible cases attributed to prominent and wealthy figures closed in on the truth, the reward offered would continue to balloon. John didn't disagree.

Even after a week, the story still dominated the news broadcasts. Though the regular programming had returned, those shows had also become colored by the GEE's website. Talk shows featured families who had received the e-mails and decided to share the details of their pain and suffering with the world, who wanted to explain how the site had given them peace of mind or even a renewal of fear and uncertainty. Not much more had been announced about the site itself except verification and demonstration that during the registration or login process (or whatever it was since it wasn't really either) victims or their families were asked whether they wanted to make the details available to the public.

Despite the urge to call Kiel and fish around for information, John decided it would be better to wait for Kiel to come to him. Kiel was the only person aside from Sarah who knew anything about the GEE. Even with the craziness of the situation and the long hours Kiel was putting in, it was only a matter of time before it would occur to him that John might somehow be involved.

But it turned out Kiel had another reason for stopping by John's house unannounced early in the week. After pounding with his fist for a few moments, Kiel simply let himself in when John failed to open the door.

"John," Kiel called out.

"Sorry," John said as he met Kiel in the front hall. "I've been working in the den lately and didn't hear you knock. Must have the volume up too high on the TV."

"You watching the website stuff?" Kiel followed John back to the den, removing his jacket and tossing it over the back of the sofa. "It's something else."

"It's kind of insane," John said as he reached past the laptop to grab the remote. He gently bumped the GEE off the coffee table and onto the soft rug, next to his workbag where it was less noticeable. He muted the television and turned back to Kiel. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Beer?"

"No thanks." Kiel relaxed into an easy chair beside the sofa. "Between the Jessica Bailey case and this website, I am way overdue for some time off. There is something I want to talk to you about though. I noticed an odd request that passed through our office the other day. Just some basic paperwork requesting to have someone added to a prisoner's visitor list at the prison. Caught my eye cause it had your name on it. Looked at it a little more closely and it sounded like the case you called me about a few days ago, the guy you said had been wrongfully convicted. Turns out he wants to meet with the man who helped his lawyer find information that might overturn his conviction. This new website thing will probably back the legal system up for a good long time, so he might not be going anywhere too soon, but it sounds like this new evidence is a sure thing. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

"I found a different way to get the information I needed," John said simply. "What do you mean the website will back things up?"

"All the information that it provides has to be verified before the police can move forward on any of the cases." The way Kiel said it made John feel that the answer should have been obvious.

And it should have been. After all, it was essentially what John had been trying to do as far as Russell Frazier's case was concerned. He couldn't just hand over the information and expect it to be taken at face value. He'd combed the video and verified the details. Now the police were going to be doing that too, but for how many cases? How many times would they have to prove that the videos and compiled information were true before they could just accept it? John guessed it would be up to the overcrowded – and soon to be even busier – courts to decide.

"Do you trust the information from the website?" John asked bluntly.

"I might. It depends on where the information came from," Kiel hedged. "If my suspicions are correct, then yes, I probably do trust it. But it doesn't sound like anyone's going to be able to uncover where the information came from anytime soon. So far, everything they're trying, every promising lead, turns into another dead end."

"Who's 'they?'" Again, John's question was blunt.

"Everyone from the FBI and Interpol through independent hackers chattering on message boards and in chat rooms. The professionals and the amateurs, no one can trace it through to the same end, to the same Internet Protocol. I heard one guy tried tracing it twenty times and came up with a different IP address each time, and they were from all over the world. My guess is they're going to try to figure out if it could be a program that somehow manages to redirect or divert the signal whenever someone tries to trace it. I don't know. Most of this goes over my head."

"Well, I don't know how it happened exactly, but I'm pretty sure this thing somehow created that website." John reached over and picked the GEE up from the floor, then strapped it into place on his wrist.

"It did remind me a little of what you showed me during the Jessica Bailey case," Kiel admitted. "But you have to have some idea how it happened. You couldn't have gone to bed one night and it was just there in the morning without warning."

"That's more accurate than you think. Didn't hear about it until Sarah showed up the next morning. But I think I pissed the thing off. I was trying to see if it had anything about Mia's case and it said I couldn't access the files yet."

"Why wouldn't it let you see information about Mia?" Kiel sounded almost as offended as John had been.

"Still won't," John informed his friend. "Sarah and I both tried. I keep getting the 'Access Denied' message."

Kiel furrowed his brow and grabbed John's laptop off the coffee table. John sat back and let his friend try it himself, since Kiel was unwilling to believe. "Damn it!" he hollered when he too was denied the answers he sought.

"My sentiments exactly," John said. "But I was dealing with this GEE thing and basically pushed a bunch of its buttons and yelled at it until it shut down. Or at least, I thought it had shut down. I couldn't get it to turn on again and it didn't acknowledge me at all, but I guess it was actually doing whatever it needed to do to create that website and send out all those e-mails; millions of them now, according to the news."

"If the website is linked to that thing – what'd you call it? The GEE?" John nodded. "Well, if it did create the site, it's gotta be able to unlock these files somehow."

"Wouldn't it have let me access Mia's if that were the case?"

"Not necessarily." Kiel began to search on the website. John came around to look over his shoulder. The window displayed the 'Access Denied' message but it wasn't Mia's case file.

"What's this?"

"This is a burglary case that went cold about six months ago. Cleaned out this young family that had only just moved to the area. They didn't have any connections here, moved for work. None of the stolen objects turned up in canvasses of the pawnshops in the area. There weren't any other burglaries at that time, so no other scenes to work with, no pattern."

"What do you want me to do?"

"See if you can get that thing to unlock this file."

John looked at the case number on the screen and typed it into the GEE's keypad, hoping Kiel wouldn't notice the device didn't appear to be on. He'd done his best to ignore the GEE over the last few days, and it had seemed to ignore him in return. But to his surprise, it responded to the entered sequence. The screen pulled up the file and did not restrict access. At the top of the list of files was one labeled "Key." He selected it. A string of numbers and letters appeared.

"This looks like it might do something," John said, holding the device's screen where Kiel could see it too. Kiel clicked everything on the case's page but received only the same "Access Denied" message again and again.

"Can't find anywhere to enter it," Kiel complained. Then he sighed. "I guess I was wrong."

John took the laptop back to try it again himself. As soon as he took possession, a new entry window appeared. The two men shared a look before John handed the GEE to Kiel to read off the sequence while he typed it into the new window. The color of the text changed for the restricted file names. When John clicked the first on the list, the file opened and a video of a young man breaking into the house began to play. Kiel snatched the computer back from John and watched with widening eyes.

"My God," Kiel said when the video ended. "You should try another." Kiel began searching for another open but cold case that his department was struggling with and John punched in the new case file number on the GEE, retrieving a new key. Again, the website revealed the entry window only when John made an attempt. "Looks like you have a tedious road ahead if that's how you have to open those files," Kiel said jokingly.

"There's probably a shortcut. But do you think I should try to open them all? Don't you think that will only add fuel to the fire?" John wasn't sure he liked the prospect of spending his days looking up each restricted case, then its key, and finally unlocking it so that it would be open to the public – and thereby keeping the story alive.

"It could, but if the information provided can be verified it would make things easier on the police. It'll take a while for the system to catch up, if it ever does." Kiel shrugged. "I for one would like to have it as a resource. The rate at which you can open the files would hardly give the system more work than it can handle."

"So you believe the information it provides?" John was looking for reassurance.

"It must be proved true for the courts," Kiel hedged. "But yes, personally, I trust it. After what I saw it do that night in the woods, I trust it. I know others won't, regardless of what it proves capable of, but I do. You have to open those files if you can." He held the GEE out to John.

John took it back and sighed. "I guess I'm just afraid someone will find out," he confessed. "That someone will figure it out and turn me in, especially if I start opening these restricted files. I'm sure some of the reports pointing to people like politicians and celebrities are bogus, designed just to stir up controversy and viewers. But some of them are probably true. What if a VIP with something to hide decides to use his resources to do something before the file can be unlocked?"

"They're probably already trying," Kiel said quietly. "But they haven't managed to shut the site down, or remove any information, or trace it back to you."

"Not yet. Will you promise to let me know if you hear anything? I mean, about whether anyone is closing in on me."

"You don't have to ask that," Kiel reassured John. "I've got your back. And speaking of back." He stood and pulled out his car keys. "I should get back to the station."

"I thought you had the day off."

"I was due some time off. But we're in an all-hands-on-deck scenario, so a couple of hours is all I can afford to take right now. And you should get going on those key codes."

John walked Kiel to the door and promised to check out the website some more. "There's got to be a shortcut for those key codes. If not, then there's got to be a reason why."

"Well, good luck figuring it out," Kiel said with a wave and a renewed sense of purpose as he headed to his car.

John watched the car pull away and then settled down to get himself organized. "Can you generate and print a list of all the cases that need these key codes entered for access?"

The list is available when ready but I would advise against attempting to print it. To do so would be ecologically irresponsible.

"Send it to my computer then," John requested. "Make sure the file is encrypted. I don't want anyone getting to it. I need to know how many there are and figure out some way to prioritize them. Is there anything you can tell me about why these cases are locked? You're not just doing it to mess with me, are you?"

The encrypted file has been sent to your computer. The cases have been categorized according to the type of criminal activity involved, then by date committed. Other statistics related to the cases are included to assist in your attempt to prioritize. There are a number of reasons for the cases in question to remain locked. Someone involved has something to learn before a case can be unlocked.

"What about those last two that I unlocked with Kiel?" John didn't care for the vagaries that exuded from the GEE. The device antagonized him. He made a conscious effort to keep from attacking back as he'd done the night he'd inadvertently triggered the creation of the website. He knew it had only made his life with the device a thousand times harder.

You learned how to unlock the restricted cases and you have acquired the full support and faith of another friend.

"Kiel and Sarah." John smiled. He could certainly count on the two of them, however weird things got. He opened the file on his laptop and nearly bruised his jaw. Regardless of how long he scrolled, the position of the bar didn't seem to change at all. "Why exactly can't I access Mia's files now? I know that you said I'm not ready and all, but how are these cases supposed to help me?"

You will learn things about yourself through those involved in these cases. Or they will learn something from you and your experiences.

"So, me punching in codes isn't really necessary. You could just unlock the files yourself," John said in a slightly teasing tone. The task that lay ahead was daunting and he needed to try and make light of it, even if it meant appealing to a sense of humor he wasn't sure existed.

You are correct. And it would be easier for both of us if I were permitted to do so, but that is not what your mission requires.

"Is there any way to get around it?" John asked, whining a little.

Not at the moment. As you progress in your mission, you might be able to unlock more than one case at a time. It will depend on your capacity to learn the necessary lessons. It will also depend on the way that others react toward what you accomplish. If those who must learn from you can do so through the examples of others, their cases will be unlocked without requiring your personal involvement. Given what I've seen so far, I'm not particularly hopeful. I think you'll be working one at a time for a while.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," John said.

###  Chapter Eighteen

Benjamin Briggs had spent every waking moment since the website appeared looking at the way its pieces fit together. While so many tried to trace the source through its code, Briggs preferred to document the subtle ways the site had changed since its creation. He didn't know the first thing about writing code, but he did have an eye for noticing the little things. It wasn't hard to give the news anchors something small that they could run with for hours. Luckily, the initial pressure to generate new aspects of the site for them to discuss on air at length was fading. This allowed him more time to pursue his own theories.

The story he regretted giving up most was his conjecture that there must be some pretty big names among the crimes listed on the site. Though many of the files were heavily restricted, some details were available. Briggs had wanted to see how much he could uncover using the crumbs available before breaking the story. Instead, they'd aired all sorts of possibilities and let the wild guessing begin. Being such a thorough and dedicated investigative reporter, Briggs continued to pursue that story independently. Okay, so it was more personal than that. He wanted to show up his bosses for having rushed it through to the anchors' desk; he wanted to show that it was more than the sensationalism they'd played it for.

And, if he hadn't been going through the website's case files so closely, he might not have noticed those subtle changes that had appeared since the site's creation. In a spreadsheet, Briggs had set about generating a list of the cases with limited access. He would spend an hour or so working on the list before desperately needing a break to work on something more mentally stimulating. Going back through his list, he started combing the available details one case at a time, comparing what was available on the site with information from the public record. That was how he became aware that some of the restricted cases were no longer restricted. He dug through and accessed a few more that he'd recorded previously as inaccessible.

Briggs double-checked the cases against others where the details had been sealed by the victims or their families; the messages were different from what appeared on the cases still showing restricted access. The next step for Briggs was to map out which cases had been opened, to see if they were arbitrarily made available or if a pattern would emerge. There didn't appear to be favoritism as to which kinds of cases had the restrictions lifted. Murders, robberies, rapes, abductions, extortions, assaults, Briggs found at least one case of each represented in his growing list of newly unlocked cases. The numbers didn't seem to favor one type of case too much more than the others, though if pressed he'd probably give a slight edge to physically violent crimes.

It wasn't until he reorganized his list to include locations that he noticed the geographic concentration. Diving into individual cases, he discovered many of them fell under the jurisdiction of the same precinct.

The office aides began making extra coffee runs late in the day for Briggs as he put away the story of the lifted restrictions and focused on what he saw as fixing the piece on possibly criminal public figures. As soon as everyone went home for the day, Briggs brought out his personal laptop and continued homing in on any other overlaps between the cases in question.

He published his deeply researched exposé on criminal public figures a little over a week after the website first appeared. To keep it timely, he had to limit his focus to only two figures: a prominent senator who was watching his presidential hopes crumble by the day, and a lauded philanthropist whose only claim to fame was his inherited fortune and how he spent it. Briggs began work on a follow-up piece featuring a few more of the illustrious names he'd connected to cases on the website. He planned to release the next piece in conjunction with putting out a simple website of his select list of restricted cases, encouraging the public to vote on the cases whose details they were most interested in learning. It could be used to put pressure on the source to unlock those specific cases, though Briggs hoped to hold even bigger sway over whoever proved to be the source simply through learning his or her identity. He kept telling himself that he wouldn't resort to threats of exposure, that he had too much integrity to do something like that, but he honestly hoped he never had to find out. Secretly, he feared he would succumb to threatening the source only to discover an e-mail in his inbox the next morning with a link to the website whose secrets he was uncovering.

Briggs locked himself in his office the day his story went live in order to avoid all reactions and to tackle the massive pile of police reports, newspapers, and everything else he'd had dug up and sent over. As he pored over those papers he noticed one name creeping up over and over again. Lieutenant Kiel Samuels was either mentioned in reports, the writer of reports, or the supervisor who needed to sign off on reports for most of the cases Briggs had sitting on his desk. And he was one of the men who caught Jessica Bailey's gravediggers in the act.

On a hunch, Briggs made a call to a hacker buddy who'd been an anonymous source for him on a piece published a year earlier. Briggs stuffed everything he had into a worn backpack whose zippers and seams protested under the strain. He didn't want his friend showing up at the office so he decided to work from home that night.

As he placed the backpack on the floor carefully in front of the passenger's seat to avoid damaging his laptop, Briggs was oblivious to the attention he was receiving from a man who appeared to be waiting for the bus just a little ways up the street. Holding a briefcase, the man kept checking his watch and shuffling around anxiously. But he also kept glancing down the way at Briggs, who pulled away from the curb and headed home. The man made note of the direction, waiting until Briggs made the turn before crossing the quiet street and getting into a parked car whose driver had been talking on a cell phone. The car pulled away and turned around, keeping Briggs' taillights in sight.

The man with the briefcase took the phone from the driver and relayed what they were doing to a voice on the other end. "He had a backpack with him. It looked heavy. I spoke with several people in the building and they all said they'd seen him working only on the story that was posted this morning. They also said he'd been staying late every night. If he really was working on that story the whole time, it would have run much longer. You're right. He's been working on something else on the side." He paused while the voice gave him instructions. He nodded in agreement with the voice and gestured to the driver that Briggs' car had made a turn. He received a glare in return for his troubles but didn't notice as the voice sought confirmation that it had been heard. "Yes. We'll keep our distance for now but keep an ear to the ground. It won't be long before he leads us to the source. Briggs is clever but shuts himself away too much, keeps everyone else out. It makes his coworkers resentful toward him and pliant to our purposes. We'll keep you informed." He hung up and turned to face the driver. Stopped at a red light, the driver turned and nodded, showing wordlessly that he had heard enough to understand.

Briggs pulled over at a diner and waited a few minutes before a patron emerged and made a beeline for his car. "Watch the bag," Briggs cautioned as his passenger nudged the backpack around to make extra legroom.

"So don't put it there, Benny boy," the young woman said. "Now tell me about this favor you want that requires me to break my rules about house calls." She pushed her hood a little farther back from her forehead but left it up, keeping her hair tucked out of sight and maintaining an androgynous appearance.

"I need you to look into tracing an IP address for me," Briggs said as he doubled back part of the way he'd come and headed home. He passed a car that looked vaguely familiar but put it out of his mind as his passenger responded snidely to his request.

"That doesn't answer my question. Why the house call? You're not gonna try and make a move on me again, are you? I thought I made myself perfectly clear last time that I'm not interested—"

"Yeah, I remember," he said running his hand over a small scar near his jawline. "It's just that the trace I want you to run is sensitive. It's related to a story I'm working on and I don't want anyone to catch wind of it."

"It's got something to do with that website everyone's on about, isn't it? You could've saved yourself the gas. I've taken a few cracks at that thing but haven't gotten anywhere. I was rather surprised I didn't find myself on there somewhere. I've bent the rules a bit, but I guess whoever set it up appreciates the difference between an artist and a criminal. Was kind of hoping to figure out who it is just for the chance to meet them and pick their brain. They've done truly beautiful work."

"Well, I might be able to help you out there," Briggs teased. "Assuming I can rely on your discretion." He hesitated.

"Hey, you know me," she reassured him. "I'm a ghost. Who am I gonna blab to? I don't even like talking to you. No offense."

"None taken," Briggs said, finally pulling onto his street. "I just want to keep this guy's identity quiet until I decide what to do with the information."

"So you think you've managed what half the planet has failed to accomplish, even after pooling vast caches of resources? Your arrogance amazes me. Actually, I take that back. If one body could contain that much arrogance, it would be yours." She snorted as she pulled on the handle and kicked the car door open, making it groan.

"Hey, I apologized for that kiss," Briggs hissed as he strained to lift the backpack from the floor of the car. "And I didn't make a big deal about how you slapped me. I admit I deserved it. But can you get over it already and not take it out on my car?" He heaved the backpack up onto his shoulder and clicked the button on his keys that relocked the car. "And for the record, I am almost one hundred percent sure that I have the guy at the heart of this thing. I'm at ninety-eight or ninety-nine, but if you can do this it'll push it the rest of the way to one hundred. And if anyone can do it, I know you can."

"Cut the shit," she said, turning on him abruptly. "I'm here, aren't I? Flattery like that is only gonna land you another slap."

"You're an angel," Briggs told her as he fumbled with his keys.

"And you're a pig who happens to pay well."

Once they made it inside his apartment and Briggs had fetched two sodas and a bag of chips from the kitchen, they settled down at his cluttered kitchen table and he pulled out his laptop. Calling up the infamous website, Briggs referenced his list of altered cases and pulled one up. "The first time I looked at this case, it came up with that annoying 'Restricted Access' message. I went back a day or two later and this time it was all there. Can you dig into it and trace the IP address of whoever it was unlocked it?"

He'd caught her attention. She leaned in closer to the screen so that her nose nearly brushed it. "It's not one of those ones where the victim changed their mind and granted public access?"

"I already checked it against those. The messages are different. And this isn't the only one. I've found at least half a dozen that were restricted before and aren't now."

His guest pulled a flash drive from the front pocket of her oversized hoodie and stuck it in the USB port. "What makes you think these changes will be any different from the site itself?" she asked sarcastically while her fingers began to fly.

"Just a hunch." Briggs sat back in his chair and stuffed his mouth full of potato chips. He watched the screen but couldn't follow what she was doing or what the images and text that appeared meant. When he'd interviewed this young woman he knew only as Phantomb, she had given him what she considered a simple rundown of the kinds of hacking she did; but even though he could repeat what she told him verbatim, none of it really sunk in to the point where he could understand or try it on his own.

"Just a head's up. This could take a while," Phantomb told him as his eyelids began to droop. "If the first case I try tracing is successful, I'll try another one or two to be sure they all trace back to the same source."

"Fine by me," he said, stretching out awkwardly in the chair and giving in to the sleep that he'd forcibly held at arm's length for days.

She looked over at him and saw the slack look on his face. Pretty sure that he was safely unconscious, her hand stole into the pocket of her hoodie again and this time, retrieved a disc. "You don't mind if I run a few security checks for you, do you Benny boy? 'Of course not. I trust you implicitly.' Well shucks Benny boy, that's awfully nice of you to say. For that, you get the deluxe package." She slid the disc into the CD-ROM slot and went back to work on her trace.

###  Chapter Nineteen

A high-pitched beeping woke Briggs from a deep sleep. He reached out to hit the snooze on his alarm and fell from the chair onto the kitchen floor. For a moment Briggs debated whether to stay on the floor and return to sleep, but the ongoing beeping made the prospect of returning to sleep a dim one. He pushed himself up on all fours and used the chair to help his tired body stand.

"I'd apologize for that," Phantomb said as she came back into the kitchen and returned to her seat behind the computer. "But I'm not sorry."

"How long was I out for?" Briggs groped along the counter to the tap and got himself a glass of water.

"Couple of hours," Phantomb shrugged.

"Please say that noise means you're done," Briggs begged.

With a few quick keystrokes, Phantomb turned off the annoying alarm. "Well, I've traced the IP on the first case and found who it belongs to. I want to try another one before saying it's definitely this guy who's making the updates," she said casually.

"Let me guess," Briggs said confidently. "The IP traces back to Lieutenant Kiel Samuels."

Phantomb laughed. "So much for your ninety-nine percent. I show it traces back to a John Daniels. But like I said, I want to run it on a few more cases before I say it's definitely him."

"John Daniels?" It wasn't the name Briggs expected but it did sound familiar. He chugged the rest of his glass of water and splashed a little in his face to help himself wake up the rest of the way. "John Daniels," he repeated as he unzipped the overcrowded backpack and dug through the stack of files. He scanned through a few of the files, at first assuming the name belonged to one of the lieutenant's coworkers. Just as he was starting to think the flash of recognition was merely a side effect of his lack of sleep, his fingers found the newspaper about the discovery of Jessica Bailey's body. He grabbed a pen and circled the paragraphs where Lieutenant Samuels' friend John Daniels had been interviewed. He sat back in the chair and smiled. "Got him."

"Given how many times experts have tried tracing this website," Phantomb said, breaking into Briggs' private moment of victory, "I'd hold off on the celebration, at least until I finish the second trace. I wouldn't be at all surprised if this new one leads to a completely different IP."

"Would you just let me have my moment?" Briggs playfully snapped. "And could you get me the e-mail address for this John Daniels? It's the least you can do after throwing a wet blanket over my victory."

Phantomb rolled her eyes and slowly shook her head as she refocused on the computer screen. She muttered under her breath as she performed the basic search. "He wonders why I'm not interested... premature... focused on himself... Even an idiot... Here," she said after a minute. She stood up from the chair and patted its seat for him to take. "I've put in the address and everything. You just have to come up with what you want to say and hit send. Do NOT touch anything else. My programs aren't finished running for the other cases, and if you screw it up and I have to start over I'll charge you double."

"You hacked into my... I don't know why I'm surprised," Briggs said, letting it go and settling into the tricky task of composing a message that would convince John Daniels that he not only had nothing to fear but could and should trust the complete stranger reaching out to him who also happened to be a reporter that had just uncovered the biggest story of the year, if not of all time.

"For the record, I didn't have to hack it," Phantomb said defensively. "You're just not as clever as you think when it comes to generating a password. Guessed it on the first try. Anyone who's ever met you could easily believe you'd pick the date of your first byline. You even managed to work it into your little biographical profile on your station's site."

Briggs flushed with frustration. "A password's easy enough to change." He continued typing just to have words on the page he could work with. Anything that crossed his mind, he typed. Once words were there, it was easier to rearrange and edit them into a compelling argument. Getting them there to work with was the toughest part of any writing assignment.

"Some advice then." Phantomb tugged the door open on his fridge and stuck her head in. "Lie on your answers to security questions. For instance, use your favorite pet's name rather than your first pet. And don't change your password to your birthday or use any of the words in your first headline. Steer clear of anything dealing with the subject of your first published story. If you insist on going that narcissistic route, use your second or third story for inspiration." She pulled out a carton of milk, opened it, sniffed. With a small facial shrug, she lifted the carton to her mouth and drank.

Briggs read through what he'd written two or three times before he decided it couldn't be improved any further. He closed his eyes as he hit the send button. "Now, we wait for John Daniels to answer."

"Or for him to call the cops." Phantomb nudged Briggs to let her have the seat back. "Better yet, he'll call a rival news outlet and give them a scoop on the reporter who's accusing a random citizen of being the source. Or you've just given him a head start on hiding."

"You really don't think it's him?" Briggs asked, finally allowing her sarcastic attacks on his certainty to sink in and eat away at the defenses he'd erected against doubt. "Who else would be able to unlock these cases? And why? Why would anyone else unlock them?"

Phantomb sighed and turned to face Briggs. Even though she sincerely thought he deserved to be taken down a few notches, he had clearly poured a lot of himself into this search and the dedication that required was impressive. While she didn't respect him much as a person, she could respect his work. "This John Daniels might be the source. But if the source was clever enough to set this whole thing up to be untraceable, why would he suddenly switch to something that was, not only traceable, but easily traceable? Either he wants someone to find him, which makes me worry, or this isn't your guy."

The computer beeped again and both looked at the screen. "What does that mean?" Briggs asked nervously. His lack of patience was beginning to peek through.

"Relax," Phantomb said. "Take a sedative or something. It just means the trace finished running on another one of those cases. Looks like John Daniels is the source of these updates. Whether or not he's the source..." she trailed off, avoiding coming down too harshly and crushing his hopes. Briggs pumped his fist in mute victory. Phantomb wasn't sure she wanted this John Daniels to be the source. As much as she would want to meet and learn from such a genius, finding him would almost ruin his accomplishment. For her, the mystery and illusiveness were part of the allure.

"It's him," Briggs said. "I can just feel it. Think of it: the man the world is searching for, and we've found him."

"Congratulations. You have the power to turn this guy's life upside down." Her voice dripped with disgust and resentment. She loathed the perverse pleasure Briggs seemed to be getting from the faintest possibility of having power over someone else's life. "If it is him, I hope he goes off-grid and disappears. Would serve you right."

"I have no intention of letting the world know who this guy is," Briggs said, catching her off guard. "Turning him over, especially against his will, would ruin my reputation as a journalist. I have to protect my sources." Before Phantomb could start to re-evaluate her assumptions about Briggs, he added, "Besides, giving up his identity gives everyone else the opportunity to go to him directly. I'd rather they went through me to get to him. That's what's going to make me more than just a household name. The whole world will know who I am, from the bum on the street corner to world leaders. I could either be the guy who found the source, or I could be the source's voice, his noble protector."

"There it is," Phantomb said under her breath.

As Briggs was reveling in how his life would change, a loud and abrasive alarm shrilled. Phantomb jumped and began punching keys on the laptop's keyboard. "What the hell is that?" Briggs asked. At the same moment, his smart phone began vibrating in his pocket, alerting him to a new e-mail.

"Sorry." Phantomb hit the computer's mute button. "It's one of the programs I was running. I wrote it that first day the website appeared. It combs the cases on the site for a person's name in connection with any case. Victim, perpetrator, witness, what have you; it finds it. Set it up to look for your name while you were sleeping and it just got a hit. Is there something you've been keeping from me or did you spend some time slumming it as a court reporter?" She had a sly smile. It vanished when she saw the sweat beading on his suddenly pale face.

"Shit." It was barely a whisper the first time he said it, but it snapped something inside him and he began to slowly pace. As he repeated it, his volume increased and his movements became more frantic.

"Benny boy," Phantomb said forcefully. She clapped loudly and regained his attention. "Did you hear from John Daniels? Why're you freaking out?"

He didn't answer. Instead he tossed her his phone and fled the room. The e-mail was from the website. She turned back to the computer and saw that the case file number was the same one that had set off her program. Preferring to rely on the laptop's larger screen, she pulled up and pored over the file as much as allowed before "Access Denied" messages appeared. The full names of the perpetrators weren't available, but Benjamin Briggs' name was all over the place as the target of some sort of illegal surveillance activity.

Phantomb didn't care who was keeping an eye on Briggs. But he clearly had his suspicions, and based on his reaction it wasn't anyone he trusted or cared to confront. She shut down the trace program and removed the flash drive, pulling another from her hoodie's pocket and inserting it into the abandoned slot. Above the sound of her fingers rapidly pressing keys, she heard Briggs hysterically knocking things about as he flurried through the house, muttering, grabbing, cursing, stuffing, pleading, and packing.

There was a thud as Briggs dropped two duffel bags on the kitchen floor. He crossed to the table, grabbed the papers he'd removed earlier, and shoved them back into his workbag. Phantomb reached into the pocket of her hoodie again and pulled out a small nondescript cell phone. She punched a few of its keys and held it out to Briggs, who looked like he was struggling to inventory mentally what he'd just packed.

"Take this," she instructed.

"What? Why?" He couldn't form a coherent thought but took the phone anyway.

"It's a burner phone. Prepaid so no paper trail. I've set up a new e-mail account for you and modified the one you were using so it will forward to the new one, but through several proxy servers. The messages will be sent to this phone as texts. You won't be able to respond, but you can see if John Daniels responds to your earlier e-mail. I'll be able to reach you too. This website has sent a bunch of my contacts into hiding but if I can find something or someone that can help you, I'll pass it along."

"You carry an extra burner phone?" Briggs knew he was focusing on the wrong things and decided he must be in some kind of shock.

Phantomb thought so too. "Focus," she instructed, snapping her fingers and bringing his attention back to her person. "You have too much stuff. One bag, one change of clothes. Leave all your electronics here. Cut up your credit cards. Take your debit card and clean out your account. You'll need cash. Again, no paper trail. You need to simplify everything. Nothing that can leave a trace. When you don't know how to cover your digital tracks, which you don't, going off the grid is about self-control and staying alert."

"Where do I go?" Briggs asked as he went back through the backpack, selecting the documents he didn't think it would be safe to leave behind and dumping the rest on the table. He shoved a few things from the duffel bags into the backpack. "What do I do about work? What do you think they'll do to me?"

"You have a better idea about who's after you than I do, so I can't help you there," Phantomb said. "From what I can see here, they've got you pretty well covered. Good luck. And I can say that, as of right now, this computer has not been compromised but it's just a matter of time." She began closing down her programs and wiping them from the laptop. "I've put an extra layer of protection on it, but I still wouldn't use it for anything if I were you." She gathered her things and looked like she was about to leave.

"Wait," Briggs said. "Could you do something for me? There's a website, all set to go, on there and a story that's been started. Would you set up the site and forward me the story and then clean them off of there? The rest of the stuff on there is old, but those I would like to keep and work on if I can find a way."

"A website?" Knowing that someone was spying on Briggs was making her antsy. She wanted to leave and go back to being a ghost. Her eyes went to the window at the end of the hall. It opened onto a fire escape that led to an alley behind the building next door. Pretty well concealed from the sight of passersby or vehicles.

"It's a simple site, a poll and message board setup. I wanted to release it with the story I mentioned, a follow-up to the one I just published. I've taken what little information the website provided on some of those sealed cases and dug up some evidence I don't doubt they'll show when they're unlocked. I expect someone saw the piece I just wrote, doesn't want their illicit activities exposed, and is watching me. They probably mean to shut me up to keep their secrets from coming out while they have someone else work to take down the site. If they can do that, they might keep getting away with it. People have probably been looking the other way or willfully ignoring what they've done so far."

Briggs was rambling and Phantomb was anxious to get out. "So what's with the site you want me to set up?"

"It's so the public can voice an opinion on which cases should be unlocked first, which should be pushed to the front of the line now that the legal system is getting backed up. It will keep the conversation going and put pressure on the source, John Daniels or whoever it is if it isn't him. Keep them unlocking things, keep the answers coming."

"Okay, fine." Phantomb grabbed the laptop from the table. "I'll do it."

"Thank you," Briggs said looking into her eyes. It wasn't easy because she went out of her way to keep them shielded with her hood.

Phantomb could tell he was sincere but she was too on edge to feel it deeply. She mumbled something he couldn't make out as she brushed past him on the way to her previously determined escape route. "Where are you going? Let me give you a ride..." but she had already opened the window and was through, one arm clutching the laptop to her chest as she made her way down the fire escape and into the dark alley.

Briggs grabbed his keys and the backpack before making one final visual sweep of the apartment. He toyed with the notion of leaving something that could mislead anyone who decided to go through the place, a false trail, but his mind was too scattered. It insisted on running through a list of people who might be willing to take him in or help him find refuge, a place where he might be able to hide safely while he figured out his next step. Could someone give him protection and a fighting chance against whoever it was that was after him? But without knowing who was watching him, he had trouble thinking of anyone who could aid him and whom he could also trust.

He left the apartment unlocked and headed for his car. The backpack sat on the passenger seat as he pulled out of the space and began to drive, not knowing where he would end up.

###  Chapter Twenty

Briggs' heightened awareness of his surroundings did not include the car that had followed him earlier in the evening and which pulled out behind him again as he fled. He also failed to notice how low the gas gauge had dipped. Driving aimlessly around, unable to settle on a destination, it was late and he was on the outskirts of what was familiar when he was forced to pull in at an apparently deserted gas station and fill up. The car tailing him pulled up alongside. The passenger in front rolled his window down and called out, "Hey, do you think you could help us out with some directions? Trying to find our way back to the hotel and can't figure out where we got turned around."

Briggs had just opened the driver's door to drive off with his fresh tank of gas. He left the door ajar and approached the other car to hear better but still kept his distance. "Where you guys staying?"

The man shuffled some papers. "Umm..."

"You can't remember the name of the place you're staying?" Briggs took a step back.

The guy laughed. "It does sound ridiculous, but when you travel as much for business as we do, there are so many hotels, and motels, and inns, it gets hard to keep them straight. I can't read that," he mumbled to the driver beside him. "Can you? No? Great. Uh, look, here's the map but the name's ridiculously small. Hold on." He opened the door and advanced towards Briggs, holding the printed map and directions out ahead of him. "Is this where we are or are we more lost than I thought?" he chuckled, putting Briggs at ease.

Briggs took a few steps closer to the stranger and reached out automatically to take the map. As he did so, the man grabbed Briggs' arm and wrenched it around behind his back, using his other hand to cover Briggs' mouth. If Briggs hadn't been so surprised, he might have done a better job of fighting back. The driver hurried out and around the car to open the back door and, while the first man shoved Briggs into the back seat, he quickly and discreetly made his way to Briggs' car, swiped the backpack from its spot on the front seat, and closed the driver's door after him. He tossed the backpack into the back seat with the two men and shut both doors before returning to his seat and calmly pulling away from the gas station. The clerk inside sat at the counter with his head propped on his hand, obliviously dozing as Briggs struggled to free himself.

Briggs quickly found he wasn't going to overpower either of the men that had taken him, so he calmed down and pushed himself to find another way. Phantomb had agreed to set up the website and she mentioned that program of hers had been set up to search for mentions of him. If his being kidnapped set that alarm off again, Briggs was pretty confident she'd at least call the police with an anonymous tip.

But if his abduction was a restricted case, what did anyone have to go on except his having been reported missing? He wanted to believe his bosses and coworkers would use their influence to put pressure on the authorities or on the kidnappers, but he wasn't even entirely convinced they'd notice he was missing. They would probably assume he had disappeared in pursuit of some new story and would check in when he had something solid to report.

Maybe he'd find an opportunity to run. He perked up in his seat and paid closer attention to where they were and the route they were taking; but he couldn't even remember how he had found his way to the gas station, and with the clouds obstructing the moon there wasn't enough light for him to make out any useful landmarks. Once he accepted that he would simply have to endure whatever they had in store for him, the car ride seemed to take forever. It provided more than enough time for him to imagine what they wanted from him and what they would do to him to get it. Briggs vowed to himself that he would resist giving in to their demands unless they wanted something that he had no qualms giving up. But he couldn't think of anything he would be comfortable giving up. Maybe his SAT scores or the PIN for that bank account he closed a few years back.

They finally stopped and pulled him roughly from the back of the car. "Relax, boys," he said, trying to sound cooler and calmer than he felt. "I'm cooperating. No need to get handsy. Oh, you've got to be kidding me." The two men were leading him into what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. Briggs couldn't help but laugh at how clichéd his situation had become. He stopped laughing when they stripped him to his underwear and tied him tightly to a chair. Trying to keep up his confidence and indifferent to whether it annoyed his abductors, Briggs began chattering at them. "It's a little chilly in here. If you wanted to know boxers or briefs, you could've just asked. What brand of rope is that you're using? It's got a nice sponginess to it; not too rough or abrasive. Seems like it'll hold pretty well too. Much quieter than handcuffs. Chair could use a new coat of varnish if you're going for appearances. Personally, I like its worn-in look and smooth wood. Not likely to get a splinter or anything."

"Who is it?" the man who had driven said simply.

"Who's on first," Briggs said with a smile.

"What?" the driver asked, confused.

"What's on second," Briggs continued.

"Stop it," the second man said to the driver. "The source," he said, redirecting himself to Briggs. "We want his name."

"Third base," Briggs said, still smiling.

"What's that mean?" The driver was clearly beginning to lose his patience. Briggs hoped he could keep it up.

"He's saying he doesn't know," the second guy explained. He gave the driver a look and took over the lead. "You say you don't know who he is," he said standing before Briggs. "But we don't believe you. And more importantly, our boss doesn't believe you. Quite frankly, his opinion is the only one that matters. If he thinks you have the name, he must have a reason for thinking so. If he wants us to pick you up and get it from you, you're going to give it to us."

"Don't know where he got that idea," Briggs said calmly. "I'm just a damn good reporter. If your boss is worried about something he did getting out because of this website thing, then he's going to have to worry about more than just me. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm not the only damn good reporter around. Not my coworkers so much. But there are others out there who'll put the pieces together, with or without what that website provides. See, we're not interested in where that information came from or who controls it. We just want to get the facts and put them out there before anyone else does. It's a competition thing. Figuring out who's behind it and getting information from him would be like cheating." Briggs shrugged, playing up the idea that he was too full of himself and his skills to care about the source's identity.

"But that's not why you want to find him," the second guy said with a sinister smile to show Briggs he was enjoying himself. "Finding out who's behind the website when the government's best people are struggling, when the world's most competitive hackers haven't managed it so far, when everyone is saying it's impossible... that's gotta be tempting. And it's exactly the kind of thing an ego like yours thrives on. You're not as principled as you pretend to be. Sure, you're more of a reporter than some of the mudslinging hacks you work with, but that's not from a sense of principle or pride in your work. You want the glory that truly principled and dedicated reporters have earned. Woodward and Bernstein. Murrow. You want your name to stand with theirs. But you don't have it in you. You want it too badly."

"If I want it so badly," Briggs said, trying to turn the tables back on his interrogator, "if that's what I care about, the glory, what makes you think I'd let someone like you or your boss take it from me?"

"Because you're also practical," the second guy said, undaunted by Briggs' feeble attempts. "And more than a little lazy. You're fine at pulling all-nighters at your comfy office or going on assignment when it means getting put up at a decent hotel, but you're not the kind of guy to get down and dirty in the trenches. You won't go to the front lines in search of the facts. You'd rather get an intern or assistant to do that. You can't even be bothered to head across town to dig through some public records. Nope, you've got people to do that for you."

"What are you going to do to me?" Briggs asked. The driver had calmed down and adopted the same menacing smile as his comrade.

"Whatever it takes," the second guy answered.

Briggs swallowed hard but tried to maintain his air of confidence even as he felt it dissipate into the chilly shadows around him. All the mental pep talks from the car and the small boost his attitude had given him vanished into the single terrifying thought that these men might actually kill him. The second guy was right: Briggs was practical. As he watched his interrogators gleefully rolling up their sleeves and cracking their knuckles, Briggs knew he wouldn't be able to hold back for long. But he was determined at least to try.

"Did you ever hear about the link between cracking your knuckles and arthritis? I can't remember if it causes it or if it helps prevent it. Isn't that typical? That I can remember reading a whole article on the subject but I can't remember what their conclusion was? I'm not sure if it's a sign of aging or if it was just badly written. Obviously, I'm inclined to believe that it was poorly written."

Pain shot through his jaw and his head whipped to the side as the driver made contact with a clenched fist. Briggs kept his head turned and groaned, laying it on a little thick, hoping to increase the pause before the next blow. He used his tongue to test and count his teeth, convinced he'd been hit hard enough to knock something loose. As he went to turn and face the pair again, the second guy took his turn, socking Briggs in the same spot but on the other side of his face.

Briggs spat blood. He hadn't expected the second blow to come from that direction and on impact he'd bitten hard into his cheek. "You two make a cute couple. One left-handed, the other right. Your boss..." This time the blow came from below, sending his teeth crashing together. More blood and at least one chipped tooth. Briggs tried to wipe his mouth against his shoulder but there was too much blood. His lip had a nasty split that was gushing.

"If you want me to tell you the guy's name," he gasped out, catching the attention of the two men.

"You ready to spill it?" the driver asked, sounding a little disappointed. He was all worked up and didn't want to stop hitting the smug and entitled reporter.

"If you want me to tell you the guy's name," Briggs repeated carefully. "You might want to avoid hitting me in the mouth." He spat more blood onto the floor and thought he could see the piece missing from his front tooth. Or maybe a filling had been knocked free. "Makes it difficult to talk."

"If you say so," the driver acquiesced, taking a shot at Briggs' bare shoulder and driving it into the chair behind him. Briggs couldn't help crying out at the hit, and he didn't have to try to make himself sound pitiful. He couldn't be sure, but if his shoulder wasn't dislocated it had to be pretty close. And he finally seemed to be feeling the effects of the blows to the head as he noticed a ringing in his ears.

"Do you hear that?" the second guy asked the driver. He held back the driver's arm, which was getting ready to take another swing at Briggs.

It took a moment for Briggs to realize it wasn't his ears that were ringing. What he heard was the burner phone Phantomb had given him vibrating against some loose change in the pocket of his discarded pants. He looked up to find both men bent over the pile of his clothes, searching through the pockets to find the sound's origin. "Probably my mom checking up on me," he muttered. "Wondering why I haven't showed up yet," he lied. If they thought someone might be missing him already and the police could be looking for him, maybe they'd take a break from beating the crap out of him to head for another location. Then again, they might just work him over faster.

"You didn't make arrangements with anyone," the second guy said, calling Briggs on the lie. He'd located the phone and was pushing its buttons. Briggs was too tired and in too much pain to waste any energy on asserting the truth of his half-hearted lie. The driver was looking over the other guy's shoulder.

"What should we do with him?" He nodded his head in Briggs' direction. "Can't let him run his mouth."

"Back room," the second guy said, stooping to gather Briggs' clothes.

The driver untied Briggs and hauled him to his feet. They led him through the dark and empty warehouse to a smaller but thankfully warmer room, then shoved him in and tossed his clothes in after him. "There's a bucket in the corner. Someone will be by to feed you at some point. Good luck trying to get out," the second guy announced before closing and locking the sturdy door.

Briggs had never been so glad that he had to wear a button-up for work. Gritting his teeth against the pain that radiated out from his shoulder socket, he got his arms into the sleeves. The pants were only a little easier to handle one-handed. There was only the smallest of windows at the top of the far wall, and it was certainly too high to reach unless there was a chair somewhere in the room. In the dim light he could make out the bucket but nothing else. Briggs doubted there was anything to see even if he could, so he sat down and leaned back against the wall.

John Daniels must have responded to his e-mail. It was the only thing that could have stopped the beating. Briggs was relieved the two men had moved on but was more worried than before about his ultimate fate. He no longer had anything they wanted. They had no reason left for keeping him alive. He could only pray they were more interested in John Daniels and the proof he might possess than in a mouthy reporter who was mostly just speculating. At least he'd held his own. He hadn't given up his source, not really. He refused to think about what lay ahead for John Daniels and instead spent the unexpected but welcome time alone justifying how he'd handled himself given the circumstances.

###  Chapter Twenty-One

"What are you thinking?" John held the phone away from his ear so that he didn't go deaf as Kiel expressed his opinion volubly. "Why? It's a terrible idea. At least wait until I can have one of my guys look into this. Even if you did a web search of this reporter, that doesn't necessarily mean the e-mail came from him. It could be someone posing as him to try and lure you out, or someone could have hacked his e-mail."

"I think my resources on this might be better than yours," John said, throwing an appreciative glance to the spot on his wrist where his sleeve bulged out to cover up the GEE. "It was definitely sent by Benjamin Briggs. I looked at the last thing he wrote, and he did an amazing job of digging up facts and evidence to support his claims, especially given the limitations imposed on the public by the website. I think I'll wait a week or so to unlock those cases so that he gets the credit he deserves for finding the truth. When I talk to him later, I'll ask if –"

"You've already told him you'll meet with him, haven't you?" Kiel asked in disbelief.

"We're meeting up at a diner for breakfast. I figure it'll be busy enough that no one will overhear us. From his e-mail, it doesn't sound like he's too interested in turning me in for the reward or exposing me. I'm kind of curious to see what it is that he really wants from me."

"Well, whatever you do, don't admit you're the source. At least, not really. You could overdo it or make it seem like you're just showing up because you want to come to an arrangement and split any reward. Then he might just assume he's made a mistake and leave you alone. Better than that, he could keep others from ever going down the path that leads to you. Playing this reporter could be the key to ensuring your anonymity." Kiel paused thoughtfully.

"Does this mean you're coming around to the idea?" John asked.

"No," Kiel responded without hesitation. "I still think you're an idiot for even responding to the guy. Meeting him might make you certifiably insane."

"Are you going to try and have me committed before I can make it to my appointment with him?" John joked.

"If I thought that would work..." Kiel sighed. "Which diner are you going to be meeting him at?"

"Oh no. You're not crashing in on this meeting. And don't worry. I won't say anything one way or another unless I'm sure I can trust this guy."

"And how are you going to determine that?" Kiel asked skeptically.

"My instincts haven't steered me wrong yet. Plus, I'll have my resources there to back me up."

"If you're determined to walk into this, I'm not taking responsibility if it blows up in your face."

"I'm not asking you to take responsibility. I was only looking for your professional opinion."

"And yet you're completely disregarding it," Kiel pointed out. "Well, don't blame me when I get to say 'I told you so.'"

"As long as you don't say it to me because I've somehow landed myself behind bars, I think I'll manage to stomach it," John said with a small laugh.

"Trust me, I won't enjoy it." Kiel hung up without saying goodbye.

John snapped his cell phone shut and stuck it in his pocket. He pulled his sleeve back from the GEE and looked at the screen. He had learned how to set it so that it displayed the time and was a little closer to resembling some sort of tricked-out watch. While he had been laying low to ride out the media storm swirling around the website's appearance, John made the realization that he would never last as a hermit. Living without talking to other people was harder than he thought. He talked to Sarah on the phone almost every evening; he caught up with Kiel whenever his buddy had a few minutes to check up on him; and he e-mailed back and forth with Professor Lucas as he sent the last few documents and summaries for the article he was developing. But John missed going to the library and seeing the other regulars, even though he didn't know their names or chat with them. He missed standing in line at the café and feeling the others hurrying him along when he failed to notice the line moving. He missed getting pissed at the annoying drivers on the road who went too slow or tried to pass him unexpectedly.

In the absence of humanity, John took the opportunity to get to know the GEE, becoming familiar with its capabilities and getting used to its personality. Perhaps what shocked him most was the fact that it had a personality he needed to adjust to. But it was beginning to grow on him, and he'd learned a few things that made him more comfortable dealing with the GEE.

Developing a system for picking and choosing which cases to look into and unseal, and when to unseal them, had helped make the daunting task ahead... well, it was still pretty daunting but at least he had reached the point where he could think about it without wanting to scream or throw something. Lists had turned out to be the key. The GEE constantly updated them and it was easy to get personalized alerts. Once he'd started getting organized and had gone through a few dozen cases, the GEE finally let him know that it was possible to enter the key codes directly from the device, that an alternative connection wasn't necessary, and that using the device itself was the only way to keep from leaving digital footprints. It wasn't until the e-mail from Briggs arrived that the importance of that fact hit home. He made sure to send his response through the GEE and actually went so far as to lock up his laptop to keep himself from using it again.

Even though it was a little early, he decided to head for the diner where he would meet the reporter. Getting there first would allow him to pick the table, sort of like a home-field advantage. When he stood in the doorway and surveyed the layout, he chose a booth along the wall of windows overlooking the street. It was equidistant from both the front entrance and the hallway that led to the kitchen and bathrooms. He slid in and put his jacket down beside him.

A waitress came up to the table, notepad in one hand and the other stifling a yawn.

"What can I get ya?" she asked without even looking at John.

"Just a coffee for now," he instructed. "I'm meeting someone. After he gets here, we'll order."

She gave him a forced smile and he caught her rolling her eyes as she turned away to fetch the coffee. There was a couple at a table across the diner that he could feel watching and silently judging him as they chowed down on stacks of pancakes. John made a mental note to order something pricey when Briggs arrived. When he looked up and over at the couple, they suddenly became very interested in the food on their plates. John decided he'd also overtip the waitress, make up for the customers she might lose on his table in the meantime.

As he watched the minutes tick by on the GEE, bringing Benjamin Briggs and possible exposure closer, John began to get antsy. Everything Kiel had said earlier came back to him. It took everything in him not to get up and walk out. Old habits die hard. John pulled his cell phone from his pocket and pulled up Sarah's contact info. There weren't many people he had listed in his phone, and most were work contacts. He'd stealthily snapped a photo of Sarah while she was working at the library's front desk and assigned it to her in his phone. Her head rested on one hand, her elbow braced against the desk. She was jotting something down from a book that was propped open. Several strands of her hair had escaped their constrictive barrette and fell in front of her face, but she ignored them. He pushed the button to call her and pictured her at work in the same position, hearing her phone, turning her head, brushing the hair from her eyes as she reached over to answer it, maybe smiling when she saw on the caller ID that it was him...

"John?" she answered, a little out of breath. The brief image he'd conjured evaporated. "What's up?"

"I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" He was thrown off by the disconnect between his expectations and the apparent inconvenience of reality.

"I'm on my way to work and running a little late," she responded. "But whether it's a bad time or not will depend on what you called me for."

"I'm waiting in a diner for a reporter who claims to have figured me out," John confessed. He could hear Sarah apologizing to someone on the street, presumably because she'd stopped suddenly and caused someone to bump into her.

"Did you call him or did he call you?" she asked in a harried whisper.

"He e-mailed me and asked for a meeting and I agreed. I told Kiel about it earlier and he told me I was mad. Tried to talk me out of it."

"Did he?" Sarah feigned surprise.

"Please don't tell me you think I'm mad for doing this too," he implored. "If you do, I think I'll get up and walk out of here right now."

"So then what do you want me to say? That I think it's a wonderful idea, that maybe you'll find another ally in whatever it is that you're doing? Will that help?" He could tell she was straining to keep her sarcasm in check.

"Yes, that's exactly what I want you to tell me. Tell me I'm not making a huge mistake."

Sarah cleared her throat. "Don't worry about this reporter, whoever he is. You'll do fine. I'm sure he just wants to have you as another anonymous source. Turning you in, exposing you, would give him maybe fifteen minutes of fame; but ultimately, you'd be the one everyone paid attention to. If he wanted to boost his profile in the long run, he'd be far better off as your protector, keeping your secret, making a name for himself by standing by freedom of the press and all that. You don't have anything to worry about right now." She managed to keep her voice steady, even, and sarcasm-free.

"Thanks, Sarah," John said. "I needed that, even if you are just saying it."

"Anytime," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "And John, be careful."

"I'll be all right," he reassured her. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Doesn't mean that I won't. Talk to you later, John." She hung up.

John snuck his phone back into his pocket and scanned the diner again, wondering if the reporter might have sat down somewhere else while he'd been talking with Sarah. It occurred to him they hadn't mentioned how they would recognize each other. Turning to the GEE, he pushed a button on the side and the digital clock display vanished. Taking its place was a search screen with a miniscule keyboard. John frowned and typed "Benjamin Briggs" into the search window. The GEE apparently didn't like that John insisted on keeping it in manual mode when he was out in public, going out of its way to make the mode unappealing. John agreed that it was easier for him simply to converse with the device, but he preferred not to attract attention unnecessarily by doing so in the presence of strangers. The GEE returned links to several of Briggs' articles as well as several press photos of the man in question. Selecting a professional looking head shot, John used it as a reference as he snuck glances at the diner's other patrons again.

A few of the others stared him down with questioning or offended looks of their own. As soon as he was certain that none of them matched the face in the photo, John ducked his head and picked up the laminated menu, focusing all his attention on it until he felt their eyes leave him.

John went back to fiddling with the GEE. He looked over a few of the lists he'd created over the last few days. First, he checked the one for all new cases. Scanning through it, most of them were connected to previously existing cases. He opened up the files for the first few and discovered most of them just indicated that quite a few criminals had gone on the run in the wake of the website's appearance. He sighed. It had been on the news the day before, and Kiel had confirmed it for John when they'd spoken. There had been a spike in the number of missing persons cases reported over the last two weeks as concerned family and friends sought help finding their loved ones. The police – already stretched dangerously thin reviewing information from the website for old cases, and fielding calls and requests from victims' families – could spare only so many officers for looking into the whereabouts of individuals. As the initial shock and novelty of the website story faded from the news stations, the slew of disappearances and appeals for the public's assistance took over, further congesting the phone lines for police around the world. Families, reluctant to face the truth about their loved ones, continued to flood local police stations.

John had the GEE design a special public list posted to the website regarding such cases. He wanted it to be a resource the police could use to assist in prioritizing missing persons cases. He tipped Kiel off to it, hoping he'd help spread the word; but based on the news reports, many police remained reluctant to depend on the site for their information. Realizing how overloaded the legal system was becoming, John designed another list on the GEE, this time for his personal use. Displaying all active court cases, a color-coded ranking system kept John informed on which ones might be slipping through the cracks. So far, there weren't any for which he felt the need to personally intervene, but that would undoubtedly change as more charges stemming from the website's information were filed.

He switched over to the list he reviewed the most, the cases standing between him and the answers to Mia's case. The GEE had talked him out of including a self-updating tally of the cases listed. Putting a number on it would be too daunting, especially on those days when he couldn't clear as many cases from the list as were added. He made the GEE promise that, once the number of cases added each day dropped significantly and the tally began to resemble a countdown, it would be included at the top of the list. He'd also managed to get the GEE to include brief summaries to help him prioritize. Another reason John had wanted a tally to reference was so he could gauge how effectively he was selecting the cases he spent his time on. He tried to think of it in terms of video games. If he found and worked his way through the right case, it would unlock an unknown number of other cases, leaving fewer cases for him to wade through to get at the final prize, what happened to Mia.

But the GEE had been vague when it came to laying out what lessons John had to absorb before he'd be ready to learn Mia's fate, and it wouldn't give him anything about how to isolate the individuals who would learn from him. In the absence of information, John acted on hunches. He scanned through the case summaries and flagged the ones that reminded him most of Mia so he could find them easily later when he would have the privacy to enter the key codes and review their details.

John focused on the task, shutting out the noise of the diner and almost forgetting about Benjamin Briggs, when a man slid into the booth across from him.

"You're late," John said. Then, glancing up, he realized it wasn't the man whose image the GEE had found for him earlier. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone else. I'm saving that seat for someone. Do you mind seeing if someone else will let you... sit with... them?" As he was speaking, John looked around and saw that the diner had emptied except for the two of them. He was surprised he hadn't noticed the place emptying. But then he spotted a few familiar faces apparently loitering on the sidewalk outside. He saw the couple he thought had been judging him standing guard out front, ushering away anyone who approached, using just a few words and commanding gestures.

John swallowed hard but managed to maintain a calm façade as he leaned back against the vinyl of the booth, dropping his hands to his lap where he pulled the sleeve of his shirt down over the GEE on his wrist. He kept his eyes locked on the other man's, holding the stranger's attention while he concealed the device. The man simply smiled at him.

John smiled back wryly. "Something tells me you weren't sent by Mr. Briggs."

###  Chapter Twenty-Two

"No, Mr. Daniels," the man said. "I'm afraid Mr. Briggs has been... detained."

"Oh, has he?" Most of John's focus was directed into keeping his voice calm and even. He managed not to bounce his leg around anxiously, but at regular intervals he did run his hand along the sleeve that hid the GEE.

"Not that it matters anymore, but he did do his best to keep your secret. Your e-mail confirming the meeting here is what gave you away. Though I don't think he would have held out much longer. I'll make sure he gets the message that I extended the thanks I'm sure he feels."

"How kind of you."

John heard a text message alert and felt himself go cold until he realized it wasn't his phone or the GEE. "Excuse me," the man said as he pulled his phone out and read the message. He smiled broadly.

"Looks like good news," John managed to spit out. He cleared his throat a bit, reaching out and taking a long sip from his coffee. The man disregarded John's comment.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush, Mr. Daniels. I don't know how you came by that information or what you hoped to gain by publishing it on that website of yours, much less by leaving so much of it just out of reach. Or did you intend to dangle it like a carrot?" The man's countenance didn't shift at all from the calm exterior he'd presented so far. John didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. "But if I'm being completely honest, and I do want for us to be honest with one another, your intentions in triggering that media storm no longer matter."

"I don't know what you're talking about," John said, but he knew there wasn't enough force behind it and that this stranger wouldn't be put off so easily. "I agreed to meet with Mr. Briggs but it was mostly out of curiosity. I don't know the first thing about setting up a website." He was able to say the last part with a small degree of conviction since it was the truth.

"Please, Mr. Daniels," the man said dismissively. "When we intercepted your e-mail response, we looked into your history. Single mother, that tragic business with your sister while the two of you were in the foster system, then orphaned and back into the system. You've kept a low profile since high school, depending on how you choose to categorize your search for your birth father. It was unfortunate that you didn't get to spend more time with him before he died. The money he left you has made it easier for you to keep that low profile and do things your own way. If you weren't the source of this website, you would have told the reporter as much in your e-mail; you wouldn't be sitting here waiting for him to walk through that door."

"You seem to underestimate the strength of my curiosity," John challenged. "As you said, I searched for and found my birth father. I make my living as a researcher. My life is finding things, searching for answers, and not even always to my own questions. Mr. Briggs was mistaken in his belief that I'm the source. I agreed to meet him because I thought my offer of assistance would be more compelling—"

"No," the man interrupted harshly. "You came here to ask Mr. Briggs to keep your name a secret. Don't worry. We have no intention of giving your identity away. We want your help. Some of the things you've published have upset a number of very important people – not just here, but globally. As satisfying as it might be to let who you are slip to some of those people, too many of them would like nothing more than to see you dead."

"And you're not on that list?" John asked skeptically.

"No, I am not, and neither are any of the people I work for or work with."

"I'm guessing you're not going to give me any details about how big a network you're referring to or names or anything?" John's sarcasm returned as he realized they couldn't and wouldn't be able to kill him, at least not until after they got what they wanted from him.

"I'm afraid not. You will show us how you got the information you posted; you will show us how to access the restricted files; and most importantly, you will show us how to remove and destroy them from your website. You may think you're safe, and to a certain extent you're right. We won't kill you, and I think you would hold up a little better under torture than the reporter did. You're built of stronger stuff. But we won't hesitate to hurt those you love if you refuse to cooperate." John felt the blood leave his face and saw the smile on the man's face as he put his phone away and pulled out a gun. "But we'll start with hurting you a little first. A taste of what they have coming to them may motivate you."

John swallowed hard and the man pulled the gun back, putting it in the pocket of his coat. "Please," John whispered. "You don't have to hurt anyone. I'll do what you say."

"Of course you will. Now get up and come with me. I hope you don't mind if we take your car. Mine's in the shop and the bus is just a little too noisy for private conversations." He slid out of the booth, keeping his hand on the gun in his pocket and waiting while John fumbled his way onto shaky legs. John grabbed his coat from the seat and threw it across his arm, unwilling to take the chance of putting it on. The man stood so close behind that John could feel the muzzle of the gun pressing into his back, right about where one of his kidneys resided. "Walk," he instructed.

"One second," John begged. He wormed the keys out of his coat pocket along with a five-dollar bill. He left the bill on the table, making good on his mental note to overtip the waitress, though he had to wonder if she would even be back to claim it. "Okay," he said making his way toward the front door. "So, where are we headed?"

"You'll see," the man said, pushing John along past the faux patrons loitering around the diner, determined to maintain appearances for those passersby who were blissfully ignorant of John's plight. It shouldn't have surprised John that the man directing him knew exactly where to find the car, but for a fraction of a second it did. John already felt a bruise forming where the gun pressed hard into his back, even through several layers of fabric.

John held his keys out for the armed man to take. "Oh no. You're driving. I'll let you know where to go. I'm an excellent back-seat driver." John slid behind the wheel, the gun still trained on him. The man surprised John again when he opened the back door and took his place on the seat right behind John. Taking his hand and the gun it held from his pocket, the man leaned forward. "Drive north," he hissed in John's ear.

Buckling his seatbelt out of habit, every rule he'd heard from his driver's ed instructor came rushing back to him; he made sure to follow each and every one of them meticulously. In the rearview mirror, he could see only a fraction of the man's head – a bit of his hairline, one dark eyebrow, and the piercing eye beneath. In that one eye, John could tell more about the man's state of mind than the rest of his stony expression would ever give away. He was growing impatient so John pulled out and drove north.

A tense silence descended, broken from time to time by the man's instructions. The number of cars on the roads dwindled as people arrived at work for the day. John tried to remember the turns he took but it was clear that the man had had him circle back and around a few times before they finally left the city and its surrounding area. It was a vaguely familiar area, but it would take John a while to find his way back to a place he consciously recognized.

The GEE on his wrist began beeping and chirping loudly. It wasn't something John had heard it do before. He had no idea what it meant or how to make it stop. The man in the back seat gripped the side of John's seat with one hand and pulled himself forward to see if he could identify the source of the noise. The gun in his other hand made it difficult, but he managed to brace himself against the side of the front passenger seat with that arm.

"I'm sorry," John apologized, working the sleeve of his shirt up and over the GEE while keeping his eyes on the road. "This thing's got so many alarm settings and I just can't seem to get them figured out." With one hand on the steering wheel, he poked at the device in frustration.

"Shut it up," the man ordered, settling back against the seat. "We're almost there."

"I'm trying," John explained. He kept punching the keys, unable to get a good look at the display and whatever was written there. "Will you shut up?" he whispered exasperatedly. The noise stopped and John relaxed a little.

"Up ahead there. Turn onto that dirt road and stop at the guardhouse." The man behind John began to fidget, but the rearview mirror didn't provide an adequate angle to tell what the man was doing.

A tall chain-link fence with barbed wire spooled at the top flanked the guardhouse and its gate. A long stretch of road on the other side led to a concrete industrial complex in the distance. John didn't see any signs, but his first impression was that this was some sort of prison and that it would be his prison, regardless of what its status with the state or federal corrections systems might be.

"Roll the window down," the man instructed. John pushed the button and the piece of glass beside him descended. "I meant my window," the man snapped. In the side mirror John caught a glimpse of a plastic ID card in the man's left hand, ready to be handed over. An overweight man in a nondescript gray uniform had exited the guardhouse and was approaching the vehicle with slow, lumbering steps. When John realized the advancing man was unarmed and his abductor preoccupied with clearance formalities, he sensed an opportunity. Obeying the order to lower the rear window, John did a quick check of the rearview mirror before throwing the car into reverse.

He succeeded in catching the man in the back seat off guard. Because the man hadn't been wearing a seat belt, he was thrown face first into the back of the driver's seat, falling awkwardly into the floor space between the front and back seats. John slammed on the brakes just before the dirt strip rejoined the main road, again jolting the man, who had been making an attempt to right himself. John reached under his seat, pulled up on the adjustment bar, and, with all the force his legs possessed, smashed the seat back and into his dazed escort, who let out a groan as the wind was knocked out of him.

There was a dull thud as the gun fell from the man's grip and landed on the floor of the back seat. John scrambled to free himself from the seat belt and reached over, grabbing the gun just as the man managed to get his feet back under himself. Remembering with a chill the way the gun felt pressed against his flesh, John launched the gun out his open window and watched as it disappeared into the sparse brush at the other side of the unofficial road.

As he saw it send up a small cloud of dust, John felt an arm reach around and grab him from behind, pulling him down into the seat. The man behind him was trying to get the upper hand on John but he hadn't quite caught his breath. John pushed against the restrictive arm, but the man's full body weight held him in place. The fingers of John's left hand found the lever at the side of the seat and he pulled up. The driver's seat suddenly dropped into a full recline, and the man was pinned awkwardly against the back seat. The grip across John's upper body loosened. He had the door open and slipped easily away from his abductor.

He ran to the brush in search of the gun, cursing himself for giving into the instinct to get it as far from him as possible by chucking it out the window. It would have been much more useful if he'd held onto it so he could use it to get his attacker out of his car, either by force or the threat of it. The man in his car grunted as he struggled to free himself. There was a huffing noise as the heavy security guard did his best to run toward them along the dusty road. His pits were dark with sweat and a spot of damp was emerging on his chest as well.

Kicking up dust, John rummaged through dirt, rocks, leaves, and sticks hoping to catch the glint of sunlight off metal. The sound of the car's back door opening caught John's attention and he looked up to see the man bearing down on him, his features finally succumbing to emotion, broadcasting his fury. John had only a moment or two to brace for the unavoidable impact. Looking down briefly to check his footing, he saw the gun a few feet to his left.

He stepped toward it just as his assailant reached out to tackle him, getting only mildly clipped instead of crushed. John spun and stumbled as the man's body and face crashed into the brush. The guard had built up momentum but now had to change his gait to avoid overshooting his target.

John's hand closed around the gun and he came up to see both men on their feet and coming at him. Once again, John threw the gun, this time back toward the concrete facility. It landed in the middle of the rough road. Both his would-be assailants took off after it, like dogs after a stick in a game of fetch.

John sprinted to his car, which had both doors on the driver's side open and was still running, the keys in the ignition. He slung himself into the driver's seat, nearly closing the door on his foot in the process. It was uncomfortable and awkward, trying to drive with the seat so far back and reclined, but John managed to reverse into the road and shift into drive. He headed back toward the city. The rapid maneuver slammed the back door shut.

He heard gunfire as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor and tore off down the road. There was a loud ping as a bullet embedded itself somewhere in the body of his car. John hoped it hadn't done any structural damage, as he needed the car to survive long enough to ensure his own survival.

The engine was too loud and John left the compound too quickly to hear any of the scolding the guard received for dawdling and doing so little to help prevent John's escape.

"Sorry, sir," the winded guard said, defending himself. "It's hard to run and call for backup at the same time."

"Backup?" the man asked hopefully. He turned to look up toward the fence. Sure enough, several cars had appeared and were going single-file through the gate. The man ran up to the open window of the first car. "He headed back toward the city. Your orders are to bring him in alive," he emphasized. The driver nodded and radioed the message to the others. The man hurried back to the guard, took his radio, and added a description of John's car as well as contingency plans for where John might go.

###  Chapter Twenty-Three

John did his best to recall the last few turns he'd made so he could reverse them and at least find a sign or two that could direct him back to the city. As he drove, he readjusted the seat as best he could to its original position. Adrenaline was still coursing through his system and his hands shook on the steering wheel. He compulsively checked his mirrors while he worked up the courage to refasten his seat belt.

When the metal clicked into place, the GEE on his wrist started to beep and chirp loudly just as it had earlier. John ripped his sleeve in his haste to get at the device. He glanced up to make sure the road wasn't about to turn into a massive curve ahead and stole another peek in the mirrors. John could just make out two or three cars coming up behind him and he was pretty sure they weren't just locals using the road, not with how fast they were moving.

"Shit!" he exclaimed.

Take the next left, the GEE instructed.

John had finally learned that it was better to just do what the GEE said so he took the turn. "What next?"

You're going to need to go a little faster, the GEE prodded.

"I don't want to get pulled over by the cops," John worried as he pushed a little harder on the gas pedal. "It's suspicious enough that there's a bullet hole somewhere in my car making me look sketchy."

Would you rather be in police custody or their custody?

"Fair enough." John floored it.

Take another left coming up and then the sharp right between the two buildings you'll see.

"You're going too fast," John whined. His eyes shot back and forth between the road ahead and the image of his pursuers in the mirror, still far too close for comfort.

At the end of the alley between the buildings, take a left. It's a tight space but you can make it through.

"I told you, you need to slow down." John had just reached the sharp right and his heart leapt into his throat.

And you need to speed up, the GEE retorted.

"I can't go that fast and make these turns unless you want me to crash." He came to the end of the alley and turned left as instructed. "This is more than just tight," he complained. There couldn't be more than a few inches on either side. It was like trying to stay between the white lines of a parking space that was walled-in and a hundred feet long.

Their vehicles are too wide to make it down here.

"That makes me feel loads better," John snapped as he hit a hole in the pavement and veered just enough to lose the mirror on the passenger side of his car before he was able to readjust safely. "Tell me, do they know where this comes out? Because if they do, who's to say that they won't just go around and wait for me there? It's not like that alley had a lot of choices for where to go."

Take a right and then the next left.

There was a sizable pile of debris between John and the narrow space's exit ahead. With no way to avoid it, John slowed down and prayed that there was nothing in there that would pop a tire and bring his escape to a sudden halt. The sound of something scraping along the undercarriage of his car had John clenching his teeth, but the car leveled out again and reached the end of the passage. He had to pull straight out across the deserted side street and three-point-turn his way around to make the necessary right-hand-turn, but he didn't see any of the cars that had been chasing him. After taking the following left, John began to breathe a little easier.

"Are they gone?"

They're still searching for you but you're behind them now. They figured you would head back toward the city. John decided not to bother asking how the device could possibly know that.

"So should I find somewhere out here to hide while they look for me in the city?" Now that John felt safe, he wanted to find his closest friends and make sure they were safe as well. Sarah and Kiel were both in the city.

You can return to the city but you must avoid them as you do so. I would recommend circling around and entering the city from the southeast.

"Okay," John said with a nod. "Can you give me directions on how to do that? I have no idea where I am."

Of course. Continue along this road and follow the next two rights.

John went back to driving carefully and praying that he didn't run across any traffic details. He'd been worried that a bullet hole, whose location he wasn't sure of, might draw unwanted attention. Now he was missing a mirror and he knew there were some significant scratches along the body of his poor car. Just as John was beginning to wonder if the GEE was messing with him, the city's skyline came into view.

Continuing to follow the GEE's directions, John engaged in a mental debate over who he should seek out first. Swinging by Kiel's place, just in case he was there, would be closest. But Kiel was probably at the station; and as shady as these guys were, John doubted they had the guts to walk into a room full of cops and try anything. As long as Kiel was at work, he'd be safe.

"Call Kiel," John instructed the device as he picked his way through less-crowded side streets.

"This is Lieutenant Samuels."

"Kiel, it's John."

"Can't talk long right now, John," Kiel explained. "But I can grab a bite in an hour or two. You can tell me all about how your thing with the reporter this morning went."

"That's sort of what I'm calling about," John began. "The meeting didn't exactly go according to plan. In fact, it went quite badly."

"You're not going to be splashed all over the evening news, are you?"

"If I am, it won't be because of Benjamin Briggs," John said. "You stay at work. Don't go out to lunch. Whatever you do, stay in the building."

"What's going on, John?" Kiel asked, his tone turning serious. "Are you in some kind of trouble? Is there something I can do?"

"I'll call you back and give you the details later," John explained. "I need to find Sarah first. I just needed to know if you were at work or not."

"John—"

But John interrupted. "Stay put."

Enter the parking garage ahead.

"What? No," John said dismissively. "We need to get to the library and make sure Sarah's safe."

You have a message regarding Sarah. Pull over on the open street or park in the garage to view it safely.

John froze and passed the entrance to the garage. Snapping to awareness, he performed an illegal U-turn in the middle of the road and drove into the crammed parking garage. Tossing his ticket onto the passenger seat, he scanned the aisles for an empty space and tried not to think about what the message might contain. Maybe he was overreacting and it would be from Sarah, saying she had gone home from work sick, or that she'd been sent out on a few errands and did he need anything while she was out.

Finally finding an empty space in the dark corner of one of the garage's higher levels, John pulled in and turned off the car. He paused for a moment, knowing in his gut the message would not be good news and reluctant to have those suspicions confirmed.

The GEE pulled up the message before John could bring himself to ask for it. A video screen opened and a man John didn't recognize appeared.

"Hello, Mr. Daniels. My associate tells me that he explained our terms to you earlier and that you seemed to understand them. While I'm inclined to believe my associate, I'm also willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Regarding your little tantrum this morning and your apparent second thoughts, we will give you one more chance to cooperate with us. We have gone to the trouble of collecting your friend, Miss Parrish. We're keeping her quite comfortable, but she won't be for long if you remain in hiding and force us to waste resources locating you a second time. I've managed to talk my colleagues into offering you a deal. You have twenty-four hours to return and comply with what my associate laid out for you this morning. If you do so, we will let Miss Parrish go. But the offer only lasts for the next twenty-four hours, beginning now." The man pointed to a clock at his left. "I've already assured Miss Parrish that you'll do the right thing. Please don't disappoint us."

The screen went dark and John sat in the silent car, unsure what to do.

There was a familiar, unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feeling that had moved in to roost when he was nine and the social worker had shown up at his foster home, unable to conceal that something terrible had happened. He wasn't sure what it was called but knew it was descended from fear, anger, grief, and uncertainty. It had never really gone away in the years after Mia's disappearance, but he had learned to calm it and keep it in check. That unspeakable feeling flared up and burned its way through John's veins, leaving him certain of only one thing: he would find a way to save Sarah. And he would do it without giving in to the demands of whomever it was trying to intimidate and bully him. He would not lose Sarah the way he lost Mia.

Suppressing images of what Sarah might at that moment be thinking, feeling, suffering, John focused on his options. He was glad to know there was no way he'd find his way back to that complex on his own and that the GEE would refuse and lecture him if he asked it for directions. Unless that was where they'd taken Sarah...

"Can you tell me where they have Sarah?" he asked the device that had gone quiet after the video ended.

Right now they are moving her. I will let you know when they've reached the place they will be keeping her. The final decision has not yet been made.

"Okay." John nodded to himself. They obviously grabbed her sometime after the conversation he'd had with her that morning. He pulled the cell phone out, then remembered the GEE had proclaimed itself the only secure and untraceable resource he had. He stepped out of the car and dropped the phone to the floor of the parking garage, grinding it into the pavement with his heel. An afterimage left on the cracked screen listed the notifications he had waiting from various news syndicates. It gave John an idea.

"Call Kiel for me," he requested politely, giving the phone one last stomp. He took the car keys from his pocket and locked the car. As he started to walk away, he glanced back and realized that his poor, beat-up car was far too conspicuous. He wouldn't be able to get it fixed anytime soon. He grabbed his house keys off the ring and dropped the rest in the trash as he headed down the stairs and onto the street.

"Lieutenant Samuels," Kiel answered.

"It's John again. Sorry about earlier. I know I wasn't making much sense, but I think I have things figured out now. Meet me at the sub shop up the street from the station in half an hour? I want your opinion on a plan I'm working on, and this time I promise to listen to your input."

###  Chapter Twenty-Four

"Is there anything I can get you before we start, JD? Some water? Or coffee?" The wide-eyed young woman was so thankful she had stuck with her internship, even if she did mostly just run back and forth to coffee shops grabbing overpriced lattes for people who couldn't be bothered to learn her name. Getting to be one of the first people to meet this man was worth it. They didn't usually let her near the guests, but he hadn't been on their schedule ahead of time. He'd caught her in the lobby of the building on her way back from a coffee run and asked her for directions. They chatted a little on their way up the elevator before she dropped him off at the producers' door. In their chatter, he'd never let on who he really was, but he remembered her name and requested she be the one to show him around during those few hours of preparation before the segment he would take part in. The producers weren't thrilled, but they didn't want to do anything to lose this scoop or the interview. So they put her, Tiffany Ballard, in charge of keeping him happy. This was the break she'd been waiting for and she was not about to screw it up.

"A little water, I guess," John said, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with his sleeve.

"Oh, don't do that," Tiffany squealed, rushing in with a napkin and dabbing gently. "They'll have to redo your on-camera makeup."

"Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," Tiffany said with a smile. "You're nervous and the lights in here make everything so damn hot. Just remember: dab, don't wipe. I'll go get you that water, and I'll make sure it's cold. That should help you cope with the lights. As for the nerves, picture everyone in their underwear." She gave him a little wink and then left him alone in his chair to remember why he was putting himself through everything.

Sarah. He was here for her. The GEE beeped quietly, catching his attention.

Sarah's location remains unchanged and her condition is good. The plan is solid. Broadcast begins in twenty minutes.

"Have you generated the case list I requested?"

Yes. They are marked for demonstration. Take a few deep breaths. It will help calm your heart rate.

"Thanks," John said, obliging but only feeling mildly better. Tiffany returned with the water and he gulped it down.

"Not too much," she advised. "I need to bring you to the set now so they can set up. You might want to use the restroom real quick."

Ten minutes later, there was a cloud of people hovering around John, fussing over him, making last-minute adjustments, talking at him. He kept his eyes focused on Tiffany, who was standing in the shadows just off the set. She gave him an encouraging and admiring smile that he found surprisingly calming.

John persisted in a daze until the show's host introduced him. He felt all the attention in the room shifting to him.

"You've refused to give us your real name," the host noted, an edge of suspicion forced into his tone. "Asking us to call you JD and not to try and discover your true identity. Why?"

"That's right," John said. His voice was quiet at first so he cleared it and forced himself to speak louder. "The reactions to the website have been mixed, as you know, and simply for my own safety I don't want my name to get out there."

"But you claim to be the source of the website that has sent this nation – no, the world – into an uproar. Why should we take your word for it? How can you back up your claim?"

"If you'll call up one of the restricted cases on the website, I'll open it." The host was caught off guard. John was going a little against what the producers and others involved in the show had advised. They wanted him to tease it more. He didn't have that kind of time, but they didn't know that.

"Any one in particular?" the host asked as he held out a hand for someone to bring over a tablet computer and its stand. Tiffany flushed as she quickly dashed across the set and back.

"If I picked the case, you might think it had been prearranged," John pointed out with a sly smile.

The host grinned and searched around on the website. "You're probably right," he admitted. "How about we make it a juicy one, eh? Can you get a good shot of this?" he asked a cameraman. John saw a close-up of the tablet in a monitor. The search list returned by the website matched the one the GEE had set up for him earlier. The host selected a case and the "Restricted Access" message popped up on the screen.

John pulled the device off his wrist and held it for a moment so that another camera could get a good look at it, then he turned it around and asked the host to read off the case number. Keeping the GEE in manual mode, John called up the case and entered the key code. The "Restricted Access" image on the tablet's screen switched to "Access Granted" as the cameras rolled. The studio was silent.

After a pause, the host grabbed the tablet up from its stand and began clicking through the documents that had become available. Remembering the camera, he tilted the screen for it to get a better shot. "Well, folks, you saw it with your own eyes. As we watched, the restrictions were lifted and now we are reviewing these additional documents for the first time. We have not seen these documents yet. They appear to support allegations laid out earlier this week in an article by our own Benjamin Briggs, regarding renowned philanthropist Oliver Collins. These appear to be e-mails from Collins back and forth with some sort of procurer of..."

John cleared his throat, bringing the host's attention back to himself. "I'd like to open one more here, if you don't mind. Just to show, again, that this is real and not a hoax." The host held the tablet out for John to take but John shook his head. "I'll give you the case file number and you can look it up."

"Okay," the host hesitantly agreed before turning to the camera and addressing the audience. "Our investigative team will be looking into the file on Oliver Collins and preparing a full update for later in the show." Facing John again, he nodded for John to go ahead and read off the case number, pulling up a relatively new case. The host's face dropped as he recognized one of the names on the file. "That's not our Ben Briggs, is it?"

The host glanced furtively between John and the watching cameras. Uncertain what the file contained, he was torn between the quest for ratings and the fear that the file could prove embarrassing to the station. Did it contain allegations of plagiarism? Evidence of a more serious crime? They hadn't bothered to bring Briggs into the office to help deal with the attention his article had received; they'd simply accepted the bump in ratings and the additional traffic on their site.

"Yes," John confirmed. "You see, I was contacted by Mr. Briggs last night and agreed to meet with him this morning. I suppose he was going to encourage me to do what I'm doing now. That is, come forward and let everyone know I'm the one behind the website." John entered the key code into the GEE as he spoke. "But Mr. Briggs failed to show up to our meeting this morning. Instead, another man showed up and tried to abduct me. I was fortunate enough to escape. I believe that this will explain for everyone what happened to Mr. Briggs."

Several links appeared detailing the arrangements for surveillance on Briggs' apartment and workplace. There were references to an abandoned warehouse and its address. Finally, there was a video that took even John by surprise.

A figure sat in front of a webcam. Shadows obscured the person's face. It was impossible even to make out the shape of his or her head because the hood of a dark sweatshirt had been pulled up. "I don't know who might end up seeing this," the figure spoke, "but I'm making it and putting it out there anyway. I'm afraid for Benjamin Briggs. I learned earlier this evening that someone has been watching him and, even though Benny took off when he found out, I don't think he'll make it very far on his own. I don't think they'll have too much trouble finding him, and I don't know what they'll do to him when they get him, but I don't think it will be good. Benjamin Briggs believed he'd located the source of that untraceable website and now I'm starting to think he was right."

The speaker, whose voice was definitely female even though she tried to disguise it, paused to grab and hold up a flash drive for the camera. She appeared to have on a cheap pair of winter gloves, extending the darkness of her sweatshirt through her fingertips. "Before Benny went into hiding, he asked me to do something for him. He had a website of his own set up and ready to go. He was saving it, hoping to go live at a choice moment, but ultimately he cared more that the world get the chance to see it, period. So here it is." The speaker clicked a button on the keyboard and the image was taken over with the home page for a public-opinion poll site centered around the restricted cases from the GEE's website. It lingered long enough for anyone watching to take note of the web address, then switched back to the hooded figure. "Mostly I'm making this video in case anyone decides they might want to come after me like they're after Ben Briggs. If you're thinking about it, think again. I have a program set up that will send this video to every news station in the country if my name shows up anywhere on that website. My real name. Source, if you're out there or watching this, lay low and keep doing what you're doing."

The feed cut off after the speaker's endorsement of John and his mission. The producers had gathered at the edge of the set, just off camera, and began to confer with one another, trying to figure out what to do about their almost certainly abducted, possibly dead journalist. The host looked over toward the cluster and caught the eye of one of them; then he did his best to telepathically ask what he should do. But the producer wore a deer-in-headlights expression.

Luckily for the show, John had his own agenda and jumped in. "These names here," he pointed to the tablet's screen, "these belong to the people who took Mr. Briggs. If you click this link here –" and he demonstrated just that, taking the tablet in hand. "This brings you to other cases they're involved in. Based on my experiences this morning, I don't think this is just one or two guys; I think there's a much larger network at play, and it will take a while for me to work through it and open all the files."

The stunned host finally attempted to take back control of the interview. "If you're worried about the people of this... network, coming after you, why are you coming forward and exposing yourself like this? They'll know exactly where to find you now. It isn't as though you can just disappear now that everyone on the planet recognizes you."

"They didn't just take Mr. Briggs," John explained. "They also took someone very important to me." He still held the tablet and pulled up the case that had been created when Sarah was abducted. The video they'd sent him was one of the files included and he played it. This time when it aired, his name had been removed from the beginning, leaving instead an ominous pause. The GEE had informed him that it could and would remove all traces of John Daniels from the public record, and while John knew better at that point than to doubt what the GEE said it could do, it was another thing to see it in action. But John's small sigh of relief died as the threat to Sarah echoed through the studio. There would be no true relief until he knew she was safe.

When the latest video ended, the host was ready. "So it was the fact that they took this, Miss Parrish, that pushed you to finally come forward and claim responsibility?"

"Yes," John croaked out. He had to clear his throat. He had known for a while that Sarah meant a lot to him, but it wasn't until she was in danger that he realized just how much he cared about her. Suddenly he was struggling to keep his emotions in check while the whole world watched. "I'm the source, and if anyone should be targeted it's me. It's a burden that I've had to come to terms with, but I'm prepared to bear it. What I won't tolerate is anyone else suffering because of it."

"But why did you set up the website in the first place?" the host pushed. "Before coming forward, what were your motives?"

"For the victims," John said as if it were obvious. "For their families. Because they deserve answers, they deserve justice. It might take the courts a while to catch up, but just knowing the truth can go a long way in the healing process. Having people believe you and support you in your time of need. I obviously can't guarantee that justice will be served in every case, but I can promise I will do my best to make sure everyone gets some degree of closure. I want to provide answers and get the ball rolling because the system needs help. It has too much to do already and too little to do it with. If what I can provide helps even the smallest bit, I'll keep at it. No one deserves to have these things happen to them; and if they do happen, then the victims and their families at the very least deserve to know how, to know why, to know who. They deserve a shot at justice, at closure, at answers. I have lived about twenty years not knowing what happened to my little sister and it's torture, the not knowing." He could feel the impact of his revelation as it hit everyone in the studio. "She was abducted at age seven, when I was nine. My mother and I never got any answers. The police followed every lead but never learned who took her, never even found her body. I watched the questions slowly eat away at my mother until the day she died."

"But how do you have all this information? You keep going back to that device there," the host interrupted John's emotional reminiscing in an attempt to get the important logistical answers before the show's time ran out. "It's not something I recognize. Does it have something to do with how you acquire your remarkable and, some would argue, unbelievable information?"

The host succeeded in throwing John off his guard. He knew that discussing the GEE and what it was capable of could be problematic. It would make John even more of a target. There were plenty of people who would go out of their way to get at the alluring piece of technology, and it wouldn't just be people who wanted to shut the website down for personal reasons. The people who were already after him needed him alive to clean up their mess. But someone only after the GEE might not think twice about killing him; they might actually want him out of the way. His life would be in greater danger than before.

Plus, talking about the GEE would make him sound crazy to most people, and that could hurt the website's effectiveness. If they doubted him, it would call all the site's information into question as well. While the police were doing all they could to confirm everything themselves, he'd gotten the impression that the general public at large had already come to accept the information as the real deal. When the police would confirm the accuracy of what was posted for a case, many simply nodded along, with an attitude of "Of course, what did you expect?" If they started to doubt, that would change to skepticism and an attitude of "Check it again." Then no amount of supporting evidence would ever convince people. Everything the website stood for would be turned on its head.

"JD?" the host prodded, sensing that his shot in the dark had struck something significant.

"This device, it's called the GEE," he said slowly and carefully, indicating the mechanism he wore on his wrist but trying not to call too much attention to it. "It does assist me in what I do. It came to me anonymously and it did, in a way, start me on this mission of mine."

"Anonymously? So you don't know who allegedly sent it to you?" the host pressed. Though he'd headed into the interview with confidence, he soon felt a growing resentment toward John for dominating and controlling its direction. He feared what the critics would say in the coming days and weeks, that they would find him incompetent, easily pushed aside, that he didn't ask the hard questions a real journalist with guts would ask. Heck, he was beginning to feel that way himself; and if he thought it, then others would fall over each other for the credit of having been the first to point it out.

"I have my suspicions as to who sent it to me and why, but I'm not confident enough to bring someone else into this yet," John said evasively. He glanced down at the GEE and saw that it was almost time.

"If that's what you're trying to do, what you hope to accomplish, if it's really for the victims and their families, then why aren't all of the details for all of the cases available? Why are so many of them restricted?" The flurry of questions slowed only when the host paused for breath. "And what about your sister's case?"

"I'm not sure what you mean. What about her case?" John looked at the GEE again and swallowed nervously.

"Have you gotten the answers to what happened to her? Were they a revelation, inspiring you to bestow the terrifying, horrible truth on unsuspecting – in some cases already content – others? Why have some families been granted the relief of knowing while others have had their hopes built up only to discover they have longer to wait?"

John fidgeted in his seat, stalling for time. "Well... a lot of factors go into the way the cases are presented on the website. I will be implementing a number of changes in the coming weeks as I see fit... as I figure out the best way for releasing the information to the public. As I've already stated, the justice system... as it stands... it's overloaded, and the cases that have already been released in their entirety... a large number but relatively small when compared to the total number of cases... these latest will only exacerbate the situation... Releasing the details of further cases... periodically... will ensure there is at least a chance for it to adjust... to catch up..."

A disturbance just off the set drew the host's attention. John turned to look over his shoulder, relieved to see Kiel and a few of his fellow officers forcing their way through the knot of producers attempting to keep them from disrupting the interview in progress. They made it onto the set, holding their credentials out for the shocked and furious host to see. He did not appreciate that they had ruined the moment. He'd finally found the right questions and had John fumbling for an answer, any answer.

"We're here to take" – Kiel paused, shifting his authoritative expression from the host to John – "JD here into protective custody while the FBI, the State Department, and every other government agency fights over who gets first crack at him." He held out a pair of handcuffs as John stood and backed away from his friend.

"No," he protested weakly. "She needs me. Not until she's safe." Another officer came up to John from behind with his own set of cuffs. He got hold of one of John's arms and twisted it behind his back. John struggled and continued to babble about Sarah. The officer maneuvered John's other arm behind his back with little physical resistance.

The host stood and tried to intercede on John's behalf. At least, he spoke on behalf of the studio and did his best to sound authoritative, as if he cared about protecting his source. But he knew it wasn't going to work. He just had to put on a good show since the cameras were still rolling.

Kiel nudged him aside easily. "The source you're trying to protect is no longer an anonymous one. He just went on national television and admitted he's behind this website. If you have any issues with it, by all means speak to your legal department and proceed through the proper channels. JD, this way."

Kiel and the other officers ushered John off the set and back through the maze of hallways while the host, producers, crew, and most of the unseen viewers watched in silence. As soon as they were out of the room, the buzz of speculation began. The host stared into a camera, dumbstruck, while one of the cameramen abandoned the docked camera, hurried over to a remote unit, grabbed it, turned it on, and headed down the hall after John and his police escort.

###  Chapter Twenty-Five

Employees streamed out of offices and corridors to watch as John was led out of the building to one of three waiting squad cars. It didn't take very long for people watching the interview at home to crowd the streets, hoping for a glimpse of the instantly famous JD. Other news organizations raced to get their crews to the police station so they would be ready and waiting for the Source's arrival.

The police cars put their lights on but left the sirens off; people still poured into the streets along their route, slowing them to a crawl. They reached a point where their progress was completely obstructed by thronging citizens. Kiel radioed for the three cars to split up. One stayed at the intersection, the officer pulling out a bullhorn and urging the people to get out of the way. The other two cars drove off in opposite directions leaving the people in the streets to speculate which held JD and what alternate routes they might take to the station.

Cameras flashed as the first of the police cars arrived at the station, but JD was not inside and they were forced to psych themselves up to wait a little longer. The wait was longer than expected, but a second police car finally made its way through the waiting crowd. The officer who had wielded the bullhorn earlier stepped out and pushed his way into the station. The third vehicle, the one that must have JD, failed to arrive. The reporters were forced to settle for wild speculation going into the eleven o'clock news that evening.

Eventually, a few officers took a car and traced the GPS signal of the third car. They found it in an alley behind an empty warehouse in a largely abandoned area where recent foreclosures had dispersed many of the residents. Kiel, trapped in the battered trunk, had given up shouting and banging to attract attention until he heard his fellow officers approaching.

"What happened?" one of them asked, helping him from the car. The others had already fanned out, searching for any indication that could tell them what had happened to JD.

"When we separated, I headed as far away from the crowd as I could. I figured it would be easier to sneak him in the back. But as I was heading around where I thought the crowd would be, these two cars came up, one behind and one in front, and they got in real close. I was wrong. We should've had extra guys so there were two of us to a car instead of just one." He shook his head and shrugged off the helpful hands. "I couldn't shake them and got turned around a bit, lost track of how far I'd gone. I managed to turn down here, thinking it was a through street. They blocked off the exit, not that there's enough room to have turned around. I tried backing out, thinking they might just move, but as you can see –" he indicated the busted-up vehicle – "that didn't happen. They just held their ground and let me hit them, then hit the gas and forced me in again. I don't know who they were, but they went after JD. Grabbed him, threw him in the trunk of one of their cars. They came at me and I identified myself before drawing my weapon and firing. I don't think I hit any of them, though. They... it happened so fast. One of them was behind me and I was pretty wedged in between the car and the building. I couldn't maneuver well and... I don't know what he had, a pipe or something. Hit me over the head and... I woke up in the trunk."

"There are some tire tracks out by the road," one of the other officers mentioned as he came down the alley. "Probably from their tearing out in case Samuels managed to get out of the trunk on his own."

"Can you describe either of the cars?"

"Dark, black or navy. Four doors." Kiel rubbed the sore spot on his head. "I can't... I can't remember well."

"You should get that checked out," one of his buddies said. "We'll get the story out there. Set up a couple roadblocks, maybe."

"We can try, but my guess is they got as far away as they could, as fast as they could," another officer said. "They knew we'd eventually get to Samuels and start looking for 'em."

They made a few calls and brought Kiel to the hospital to be tested for concussion. The media fought for sound bites from the station's officers but had to wait until the next day before they heard from Kiel directly. Speculation about JD's whereabouts ran wild.

* * *

"I'm not hitting you over the head," John protested as he looked through the glove compartment of the nondescript gray car Kiel had acquired for him.

"We need it to be believable," Kiel argued, scattering the spent casings from his service revolver on the ground around the driver's door of the car. He opened the door hard against the side of the building, leaving both marked.

"I already said I'd shut you in the trunk, and I rear-ended the squad car pretty good, but I draw the line at hitting you with anything." He picked up a box of hair dye and skimmed the directions.

"Fine, I'll figure something out," Kiel conceded. "I didn't miss anything, did I? It won't be missed for a while. Not as tricked out as some of the squad cars, but it does have a reinforced frame. You saw how hard it hit and there's barely a scratch on it."

"I think you might have actually gone overboard."

"You know where they're keeping Sarah?" Kiel asked, turning serious as their time together was running low.

John tapped the GEE. "Have her location and an infallible set of directions that will get me there."

"Well," Kiel said, moving toward the cruiser. "You should get me in the trunk and get going before anyone catches us at this and it turns out we did it all for nothing."

"Thanks, Kiel," John said solemnly. "For all your help setting this up and helping me... Just, thanks."

"Don't sweat it." Kiel downplayed the extent to which he'd bent the rules to help John and endeavored to avoid an emotional scene over their impending separation. "Now, stuff me in the trunk," he joked. John held the trunk open while Kiel climbed in.

"Thanks again, Kiel. And I will be in touch with you." He tapped the GEE. "We don't have to worry about anything being traceable. Now watch your head," he warned. He started to close the trunk when Kiel turned unexpectedly to say his own goodbye. The trunk lid struck Kiel in the back of the head before John could catch it. "I am so sorry," John said, moving to get a better look at the wound.

"Don't worry about it," Kiel said with a sly grin.

John frowned as he realized what Kiel had quickly orchestrated. "Oh, I won't." He clicked the lid into place carefully and knocked, waiting until Kiel matched his knocks before moving off to the unmarked car Kiel had acquired and stocked for him. He took one last look at the squad car in the rearview mirror before starting along the route the GEE had predetermined.

John was impressed with how smooth the ride in the unfamiliar car was, feeling a tad guilty about his poor, abandoned, bullet-hole-ridden car. The GEE directed him along a less than direct but largely deserted route until he found himself in an empty parking lot next to a run-down building. Though he trusted that the GEE wouldn't have brought him there if it weren't a safe location to make his transformation, the battered look and grimy feel of the place left him with an unshakable icky feeling.

The door to the building wasn't locked but it did stick as John, his sleeve pulled over his hand so he wouldn't be forced to touch the uninviting knob directly, turned the handle and tugged. When the door finally gave and swung open, he nearly dropped the bag of supplies Kiel had stashed in the glove compartment for him. The GEE glowed faintly in the void until he pulled out a small flashlight and shone it around the small entryway in which he found himself. Pulling open the first door he found, John stared down a long corridor.

There's a bathroom at the end of the hallway. I'll take care of the lights.

Picking his way carefully along the passage, John tried not to touch anything. It wasn't that he was worried about leaving fingerprints, hair, or other traces of himself along the way; the GEE could handle erasing him from the databases that would make such detritus valuable. In fact, he was pretty sure the GEE had already done that as a precautionary measure. John's reluctance arose from a desire to keep the building from rubbing off and leaving its mark on him. He knew it was odd and most would find it illogical, but the dust and cobwebs of the neglected building made him feel more sullied than the night he'd spent on the ground, in the woods, only a few feet away from a corpse. He supposed it had less to do with the building itself and more to do with what he'd gone there to do.

He pushed open the bathroom door (marked "Ladies"), and the lights blinked on as it slammed shut behind him. John's whole body tensed. In the harsh fluorescent light he could see that the mechanism to ease the door shut was broken.

The room was larger than the door had led him to believe, containing three toilet stalls, two spacious sinks with sizable mirrors, and both a paper towel dispenser and a blower for drying one's hands. Plopping the bag on the floor and crouching beside it, John pulled out the box of hair dye along with a travel-size, battery-operated beard and mustache trimmer. Switching it on, he prayed it wouldn't conk out on him when he was only half-finished with his head.

After safely standing the GEE on the counter far beyond the splash zone, he started with the hair dye. He followed the directions to the letter, then spent ten minutes worrying over how much extra dye was left in the little bottle; whether the color was too much of a change from his lighter natural color, or worse, not enough; would he describe it as a "tingling" or "burning" sensation; how long would it be before his roots grew in and gave him away? In an effort to distract himself for the remaining twenty minutes before he could rinse out the dye, he carefully rummaged through the rest of the bag's contents.

A box of expensive-looking contact lenses tumbled to the floor. From what little he knew of putting foreign objects in his eyes, he decided to wait until he was ready to leave before trying. He would have to be extra sure that the chemicals from dying his hair were scrubbed from his fingers first; he had no desire to go blind. Then he wondered whether the lenses, designed to give his pale blue-gray eyes a muddier brown appearance, would obstruct his vision. Would it be like looking at the world through darkly tinted sunglasses? What would they feel like when he blinked?

John frowned when he picked up a wallet that had followed the contact lenses out of the bag. It contained over a hundred dollars in cash. He silently blessed Kiel for the overly generous gesture. There was also a driver's license, damaged library card, expired AAA card, and a few faded receipts thrown in making the wallet and the person holding it look legitimate. A fresh change of clothes and some boxes of granola bars were each in plastic bags of their own.

Fingering the musty and stiff clothes he would have to put on, John felt a wave of nausea strike. Maybe it was the fumes from the hair dye. He hunched over the sink, washing the dye from his hair, ignoring the fact that he was supposed to wait another five to ten minutes to ensure the color set properly. Did it matter that his hair was already pretty short? Could that have sped up the process? Finding it difficult to effectively wring the water from his hair, he shuffled to the hand dryer and pressed the button, keeping a safe distance from the nozzle until he knew what would happen. There was a rattling noise at first, then nothing. John heard the GEE beep and glanced over at it just as the dryer kicked on full force, emitting a small cloud of dust before a blast of heated air warmed the space around John. He heard his back and neck crack as he struggled to find a position that would work, finally kneeling on the floor with his back to the wall and leaning back so the air could reach his wet head.

The heat on his scalp and the white noise of the dryer threatened to lull John to sleep. Fighting to keep focus, he ended his blow-drying efforts before he could succumb to the temptation. He stood before the mirror but kept his eyes on the drain in the sink, steeling himself against the stranger who would stare back at him. But it wasn't as rough as he'd expected. His eyebrows were lighter than the rest of his hair, making his whole face more balanced, less severe. It was different but he still recognized himself. Of course, he wasn't finished yet.

He used the plastic bag from the set of extra clothes to line the sink. Running his fingers one last time through his hair, he wondered if the trimmer would work while the hair still held moisture or if he should sit under the dryer for a few more minutes. No, he just wanted to delay the next step. His hair wasn't really long. Just long enough to run your fingers through. He remembered once when Sarah had done just that, clearing snow from his hair as they entered a coffee shop one morning during a snowstorm. Thinking about Sarah, he switched the clippers on and set his jaw.

In a few minutes he set them down, leaned over the bag, and did his best to clear away the clinging bits of hair from his head and shoulders. There was a moment when he wondered why he'd bothered to dye and cut his hair at all; shaving it would have been a quicker and probably more effective way of altering his appearance. On second thought, it would have been too much. Shorn to just over half an inch, he could still make out where the part of his hair had always been and the ghostly pale skin of his scalp peeked through. The contours of his skull appeared and vanished as he turned his head to different angles, like the wind rippling through a field of grass. If not for his terrible posture and gentle expression, he might be able to pass for ex-military.

Tying off the bag of hair, John quickly changed out the business casual outfit he'd worn for the interview, swapping it for the clean but worn set of everyday workman's clothes that Kiel had included in his do-it-yourself disguise kit. With nothing left, John faced the unsettling prospect of poking himself in the eye. It took a few tries and half a dozen profanity-laced fits, but as he blinked at his reflection he saw triumph and determination behind the bloodshot eyes.

Pulling the falsified license from his new wallet, he compared its image with the face that now stared back at him from the mirror. The height, weight, hair and eye color fit, but even with his eyes still watering John could tell that the similarities wouldn't fool anyone with a critical eye. Still, it was better than nothing.

Gathering everything together and strapping the GEE into place on his wrist, John headed back out the way he came. Shoving the wallet and extra sets of contact lenses into the glove compartment, some papers fell out. The registration and title for the car both listed the name that was on the license in the wallet. He felt like an undercover cop and wished he could thank Kiel one more time. But he didn't want to call Kiel until he had Sarah and they were safe. Who knew how long it would be before that happened.

John drove a few blocks farther up the street until he spotted a dumpster. Pulling over, he tossed in the bag of used supplies, hoping the dumpster was scheduled for pickup in the morning. The sooner that stuff reached the dump, the safer he'd feel.

Driving away, he ran a hand over his shorn head, wishing he had a hat to cover it. He hadn't expected his head to feel so cold.

"Which way to Sarah?" he asked the GEE.

Head north for fifteen miles then east. When you're prepared to discuss how you plan to enter the complex and then the building where she's being held, I have some blueprints you might find useful.

"First things first. I need to get there. While most of the country is wondering where I disappeared to or who could have taken me, I think the guys who have Sarah know exactly where I'm headed. They'll have guys watching out for me. Maybe even booby traps or something to make sure I can't just get in, grab her, and get back out." John tried not to sound prematurely defeated.

I can help with that.

###  Chapter Twenty-Six

The late hour ensured that traffic wasn't too heavy, but John had spent a sizable chunk of the head start Kiel secured for him in the abandoned building's ladies' room. When the number of cars around him increased and began to slow down, John started to get a little nervous. Trying to brush it off as nothing, he asked the GEE about it.

There is a police roadblock ahead slowing traffic down. It should not be a problem aside from a small delay. An affectation of begrudging compliance will be sufficiently expedient.

"An affectation of what?" John asked nervously.

Play it cool, the GEE rephrased.

"You can't just find me a way around this?" John asked, reluctant to test the effectiveness of his new look so soon.

There are roadblocks on all major routes out of the city. To turn around now would attract unwanted and time-wasting attention.

"Great," John said with an anxious sigh.

The roadblocks were set up after Lieutenant Samuels' colleagues located and freed him from the trunk of his vehicle. This vehicle does not match the description he gave them but they are checking all vehicles in the event his attackers switched after they fled the scene. These fictional men are also supposed to have abducted JD.

"So they're looking for me but not like this," John summarized in a reassuring voice, though the GEE wasn't the one who needed reassuring. "I can do this. They might not even stop me." He aimed at optimism and nearly made it. But as soon as the flashing lights appeared in the distance, he went back to praying he would be let through without incident.

John reached the roadblock. An officer approached his window, tapping it with a large, lit flashlight. He rolled his window down and the bright light was in his eyes, causing them to tear. "Would you mind lowering that?" John asked before he had a chance to think about whether it would sound rude. He held his arm up to shade his eyes. He didn't want to lose the lenses from his eyes or have them shift noticeably.

"Sorry, man," the officer apologized, moving the light so it didn't hit John square in the face but reached past him, scanning the front seat. "We're looking for someone who was abducted earlier this evening."

John lowered his arm and realized he'd forgotten to conceal the GEE. Luckily the man appeared to have seen only the band that kept it in place on John's wrist. "Understood, Officer," John said, rolling his sleeve down over the GEE as the man shone the light into the cluttered back seat. There was a layer of empty coffee cups and fast-food bags on the floor, and the seats were rather worse for the wear, but it was obviously unoccupied. "Who're you looking for?" John asked distractedly. The GEE gave John a quick little warning shock and he knew he should've kept his mouth shut.

The officer took a longer look at John with a furrowed brow. "Where've you been the last few hours that you don't know? Don't you have a TV or phone? It's everywhere."

"I was working the late shift tonight. No TV to watch," John said defensively. "Would've checked stuff on my phone when I got off, but my kid's been going through this phase where everything goes in the toilet. He got hold of it last week and I can't get an upgrade till the beginning of next month."

The officer backed down and smiled at the anecdote. "My little guy went through that phase. Toys, keys, even the remote. He stopped when he accidentally flushed his favorite binkie. Terrible twos, am I right?"

"Terrible twos," John confirmed.

"Can I just get a quick look at your license?" the officer asked, far friendlier than a moment earlier. "Just routine. Doing it with everyone."

"No problem." John shifted in his seat to open the glove compartment in a way that obstructed the officer's view inside but not noticeably.

"You headed home?" the officer asked while John pushed the box of extra lenses with its saline solution farther in and pulled out the wallet.

"Gotta go out to my parents' place. They were baby-sitting while I was at work. His mom's away for a few days. Bridesmaid in a friend's wedding." The officer nodded, only looking briefly at the license John offered before handing it back.

"Thanks, Mr. Randolph. Drive safe."

"Good luck finding the guy you're looking for," John said as he rolled the window back up and the officer waved him on.

It was fifteen minutes before John's heart rate returned to normal and a half-hour before he could bring himself to speak. "That was close," he finally remarked to the GEE, unsure whether he wanted it to respond. He was inclined to view its silence as positive. So far it tended to speak up only when something was going, or about to go, wrong. As long as it stayed quiet, things must be going well.

You need to work on "playing it cool."

"I'm trying," John argued. "I'm worried about Sarah, I'm tired, and I'm not naturally a sneaky or deceptive person."

Those aren't necessarily bad things. But since you decided to broadcast your face to the world, you might want to work on passing unnoticed, or at least without bringing the wrong kind of attention to yourself.

"Given the way most people ignored me at the library, I thought I was already a pro at that," John replied.

You'll have an opportunity to practice soon.

"What does that mean?" John reluctantly asked. It didn't sound good.

After you get off the highway at the next exit, you will take the first left. It is a road that leads directly to the facility where Sarah is being kept. The road is rarely used with the exception of those working at the facility, and few of them are aware of all that takes place there. After your interview earlier tonight, a handful of precautionary measures were taken to prevent or severely hinder your ability to reach the facility, should you attempt to do so.

"Precautionary measures?" John was approaching the exit ramp.

The area is relatively open; it's mostly flat fields that are fortunately dry enough for you to drive on.

"You want me to go off road? In this car?" John hated when he accidentally drifted too far over on the highway and hit the grooved pavement designed to wake up sleepy drivers; he loathed when he was forced to drive through any kind of road construction where the road was torn up or in the unsettling, grooved pre-pavement state; and he dreaded potholes. The prospect of leaving the solid pavement for packed dirt and rocks was not a welcome one.

Driving along the roadside is the best way to avoid the implements designed to pierce your tires or damage the vehicle's undercarriage, which have been placed at various points along the route. You will need the road to guide you, but to drive on it will ultimately hamper your progress.

John was off the highway and saw the turn in question up ahead. He pulled over just before the road turned. The car was positioned so the headlights shone down the street. It was like the GEE had said, open and flat.

"Can you give me a hint as to what the 'implements' in question are 'cause I don't see—"

Rocks, small and large, nails, glass, twisted metal scraps, an assortment of broken or damaged car parts. There are even some devices made to look like road kill but they will inject short tubes into tires when run over, leeching out the air.

"Ah." John adjusted the wheel and started slowly along the uneven but apparently safer land parallel to the road. "Aren't there other people out here somewhere?" The land was open but he couldn't see any spots of light to indicate habitation. Of course, it was long past midnight, probably closer to two o'clock than one. Most people would be asleep, their lights off. Not like the city where there was always a light on somewhere close by.

Residences lie closer to the business complex where Sarah is being held. There are other roads into those areas that are more convenient for those living there. This is simply the route most conducive for your purposes tonight. There is a family of four about a mile ahead who became lost and have had their vehicle damaged by the debris in the road.

"Get to try my disguise out twice in one night. Awesome." John sped up and kept his eyes peeled. The muscles of his arms began to cramp from clutching the steering wheel so tightly. Every bump seemed to jostle him through to his bones. Then he saw blinking hazard lights ahead and a minivan perpendicular to the direction of the road. A woman leaned against its side, balancing a toddler on her hip, a blanket draped over its resting head. A man, presumably her husband, was returning from the dark open space with another young child. As he got closer, John could see it was almost definitely a boy, six or seven years old, and practically asleep on his feet. The parents turned toward John's approaching car and shielded their eyes from the sudden glare of his high beams. The mother ushered the boy back into the minivan and deposited his younger sibling there as well.

John stopped the car and switched the headlights to their regular state but left everything on as he opened the door and stood up, one arm braced on the top of the door, the other thrown across the roof. "You look like you could use some help," he called out loud enough to be heard but not so loud as to wake the children.

"Blew a tire," the wife explained.

"Something in the road," the husband picked up. "Couldn't see it till it was too late. Busy looking for a place to turn around so we could get back to the highway."

"D'you have a spare?"

"Yup," the man confirmed.

"But nothing to change it with," the wife added.

"I tried calling AAA when I took Jimmy out to pee," the husband told her defensively. "There wasn't a signal. I can't do anything about cell reception out here."

"I'm sorry." It was her turn to get defensive. "I fell asleep when I was supposed to be keeping an eye out for that sign. But you were the one who insisted we drive the whole way, that we could do it in one shot, no problem."

"I think I've got the right tools in my trunk," John interrupted. "I can give you a hand if you like."

His offer surprised the couple, but after it sunk into their overtired heads they fell over themselves thanking him. The wife held the flashlight while John and her husband strained to change the blown-out tire. The noise woke Jimmy, who left the minivan to stand beside his mother and watch. When the van was back on all four wheels, John helped the husband inspect the other tires and clear the road enough for the van to turn around.

"Just three-point-turn it," John advised. "This road doesn't get used too much so it's not kept up too well. Probably some stuff fell off one of the construction vehicles headed for work at the complex way up the other end."

"Thank you so much, Mr..." The man took John's hand but had never asked his name.

"Randolph," John said quickly. "Just call me Randolph. And it was no trouble."

"Where you headed?" the wife asked curiously. She was trying to get Jimmy back in his seat so they could get going.

"Work. Up at the complex I mentioned. Night shift. Buddy called in sick so they called me up last minute to cover for him." John was surprised and a little disappointed that he was getting faster at coming up with lies. Sure, it was for his protection, but he found it unsettling.

"That must be how you knew to drive up along the edge like that," she said nodding toward his car, pulled ridiculously far off the road for anyone who'd been driving atop the pavement.

"Honey," the husband began. "Are you really going to do this now? The man just helped us and you're gonna get all suspicious on him?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry, you're right. I'm overtired, and when I sleep in the car with the radio on it mixes things up in my head." Her husband nodded confirmation to John. "Jimmy mentioned he thought you looked like that guy on the news, the website guy. Obviously, you're not him. Completely wrong hair and everything, but I tried to see it and so I guess I saw it." She shrugged and John laughed, but it came out high-pitched and creepy.

"What would you have done if it really was him?" her husband prompted.

"Hadn't thought that far, I guess," she said as she rooted around in the van for something.

"Website doesn't seem like such a bad thing to me," her husband stated. "Tom, this guy I work with, said he finally found out who it was had swiped his credit card ten years earlier. He went through hell getting everything straightened out again. Said just having a name he could put with the story whenever he told it made it seem so much smaller than he'd always made it out to be. Turns out the thief's name sounded so pathetic and desperate, Tom could finally put it behind him. Tom would thank the website guy."

"But the police are looking for him," she said, unconvinced.

"For the guy's own protection," the husband emphasized. "I'm not convinced that's the safest place for him. They really just want to know how he did it."

"Well, it probably won't matter much longer," she said, emerging with a small brown lunch bag. "Sounds like those guys who took his girlfriend grabbed him. Here," she held the bag out for John to take. "It's just a couple of snacks as a thank-you. You can have them on your break. I just hope stopping to help us... I hope you don't get in trouble for running late."

"They can't really complain too loud when they're the ones who called me in when I was supposed to be off," John said with a wink, accepting the snacks before he turned to head to his car. "Thanks."

The family climbed back in their minivan and John kept going along down the side of the road toward Sarah.

###  Chapter Twenty-Seven

The GEE helped guide John around the other hazards that had been planted on and around the road. John thought he spied the headlights of another car in the distance but quickly realized he was seeing lights interspersed along the chain-link fence that surrounded the compound.

You should find a place to hide the vehicle now. There are two patrolmen who walk the perimeter of the fence and complete the circuit in about forty-five minutes. They aren't supposed to walk it together but they do, cutting that security measure's effectiveness in half and giving you a little extra time to sneak in.

John found one of the side roads that led around the complex to the nearby residential areas and drove along that with his headlights off. The GEE alerted him to a cluster of trees at the edge of a lightly populated area where the car would go unnoticed.

You'll need a flashlight and wire cutters. Carry nothing else. It will only slow you down and make too much noise.

John hesitated when he remembered the handgun Kiel had stored in the trunk's roadside emergency kit. He had buried it in the bottom of the bag when he went to retrieve the tools to help the stranded family. Now he wondered if he shouldn't bring it as backup, just in case. The patrolmen were sure to have some impressive weapons.

You don't need it and it is too noisy. If you fire a gun, everyone will know you're there. You need to be quick and silent. The wire cutters will get you through the fence and that's what you need. I can take care of everything else.

John quietly closed the trunk and said a silent prayer that the GEE could deliver on that promise. The walk back was easy. With the flashlight and moving on foot, John could easily avoid the booby traps in the road. Still, as the fence and its locked gate came into view, the GEE gave John a brief buzz to catch his attention.

The wire cutters won't work on that lock. It's too thick. And the room where Sarah is being held is on the other side of the compound. The patrolmen walk the perimeter counterclockwise. If you move along the fence, keeping it on your left-hand side, I will let you know where to stop and cut your way through.

Unwilling to waste time debating, John moved with as much stealth as he possessed. He swung away from the fence, keeping out of the pools of light cast by the structures, which on closer examination John decided resembled streetlights. They were posted every fifty yards. John imagined that from above the space probably looked like a child's connect-the-dots picture. The windows of the clustered buildings, all interconnected with glass-enclosed walkways, bridges, and probably tunnels, only sporadically emitted the faint glow of emergency lighting. There were more lights on in the central building than in the one closest to where he was standing. He presumed the criminal element he was up against didn't work regular hours and that the complex must have some legitimate businesses for public appearances. Those businesses appeared to require a sizable night shift.

As John approached another intense pool of light and prepared to move around its edge, the light above flickered and went out. He didn't wait for the GEE to tell him that this was the spot. John pulled out the wire cutters, wondering how he would hold the flashlight while he worked on the fence. The GEE began to glow brighter, providing enough light for John to work with, so he tucked the flashlight in the back waistband of his pants.

Each time the wire cutters passed through the metal, the noise seemed to echo through the darkness and the wire rattled as the force rippled along the rest of the fence, potentially betraying his presence to the approaching patrolmen. He worked quickly, making a space just large enough for him to crawl through. The sharp edges of the fence clawed at his clothes and tried to trap him, but he wriggled through even when he heard fabric tear. There was just a catch in the fabric of his shirt, but his jeans sported a much larger hole just below one of the rear pockets. Smaller scratches decorated the exposed flesh of his neck and forearms. He was lucky none had broken the skin.

John did what he could to pull the fence closed again but the result was hardly less noticeable than a gaping hole.

You must move to the building now or the patrolmen will see you, the GEE warned.

John dashed across the paved space between the fence and the building. The light was still out, impairing John's ability to gauge the distance to the wall. He hit it abruptly and bit his lip to keep from cursing. The light flickered on again, but it was dim and flickered off and on at regular intervals. It looked like the bulb was dying.

Keeping his body pressed against the wall of the building, John felt his way to a corner that gave him a decent vantage point as the patrolmen approached the area of the fence he'd penetrated. He watched as the two men focused only on the blinking light, paying no attention to the state of the fence itself. The tilt of their heads grew more drastic as they got closer.

"Should we bother trying to get one of the maintenance guys out here to fix this?" one patrolman asked his companion as they watched. The flickering grew more intermittent and the light provided moved closer to permanent darkness.

"At this time of night?" the other asked skeptically. "You really think we're gonna get a guy to come out here in the dark to change a light bulb?"

"But they said they want anything weird to be reported and addressed immediately," the first pointed out, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"You're still new," the second patrolman said condescendingly. "I never said we wouldn't report this. I just doubt they'll be too happy if we took a break from patrolling to stir up a maintenance guy and then baby-sit him – or worse, get stuck helping him while he fixes this."

"So then what's the protocol for something like this?" the first patrolman asked with a hint of challenge in his voice. He resented the patronizing attitude of his partner.

The veteran patrolman took a radio from his belt and pressed the button. "Georgie, we've got a light that needs replacing, west side, 'bout ten away from the back gate. It's right outside of building four."

"Got it," a voice answered after a small patch of static. "I'll send a guy out to mark which one so the boys can change it in the morning."

"Thanks, Georgie." He put the radio back and ushered his companion back along their patrol. "See, it's taken care of. No muss, no fuss."

The first patrolman rolled his eyes but didn't argue as they continued on their way.

John strained around the corner to be sure the guards and their flashlights were gone before he started moving again, heading for a door the GEE had told him was only a few more yards ahead. He could see the electronic keypad glowing. When he entered the four digits the GEE provided for him, the door emitted a low buzz. He pushed it open easily and entered.

It was dark, but as the door clicked closed, the light above John's head hummed to life, illuminating a small stretch of the corridor. As he made his way deeper into the building, whichever light was above him would switch on as the previous one blinked out. John momentarily fought the urge to dance between two spots that fell under different lights, just to see what would happen, but the GEE gave him a gentle reminder of their more immediate purpose.

The blueprints had revealed a larger portion of the building than John had thought possible lay underground. The GEE was thorough with its information, providing John with the site's history more than two hundred years back. Many of the underground floors were made possible only because additional earth had been moved to the site and used to build up the area around the building, effectively burying floors that would normally have been aboveground. The necessary dirt was taken when the surrounding area was excavated and leveled to prepare for the housing developments. What made this interesting to John was the fact that Sarah was being held on one of those subterranean floors. Following the GEE's directions, John spotted an elevator. He pushed the button and waited for the machine to reach his floor.

Take the stairs. They're through the door on your right.

"What? Why? Sarah's how many floors down and you want me to use the stairs?" John challenged. "The point is to be quick. In and out, remember?" The doors opened with a small chime. John stepped in and went to push the button to go down to Sarah's floor but there wasn't a button for that floor. He tried the "B," for basement, but a screen lit up red, requesting a retinal scan to be followed by fingerprint authorization. A red laser shone into the elevator and attempted to scan John's eye, but he ducked out of the way and back out the doors.

Take the stairs, the GEE repeated.

"Can't you just override those authorization scans? You play with the lights easily enough, and you're probably taking care of any security cameras. Why won't you do your thing with the elevator?" John kept his voice quiet but that only made his whining sound more childish.

It's true, I've been doing what I can to make your progress through the building as quick and easy as possible, but I've also been doing what I can to prevent your detection. I am capable of overriding those requirements for traveling to the building's lowest floors. However, there are too many factors regarding the elevator that I cannot control. For example, whether someone hears the mechanism. And if someone discovered you in there and shut the elevator down, I could override the system and get you moving again, but there would almost certainly be someone waiting for you when the doors opened. Better to take the stairs and keep more options in play.

Caving once more to the GEE's annoyingly rational explanation, John headed for the stairwell. After descending one floor he faced another door, marked: Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point. Alarm Will Sound If Door Is Forced.

John entered another code provided by the GEE, pulled out the flashlight and used it to prop the door. Since the GEE was turning the lights on and off when necessary, he wouldn't need it for its intended use; but he thought he might need to get back through that door at some point, and in a hurry too. A trail of small lights ran along the walls with larger fixtures at each landing. They provided enough light to prevent John from tripping and falling ass-over-teakettle the rest of the way down, but when he leaned over the railing to see how far the stairs went, there wasn't enough light to see to the bottom.

The journey down wasn't too hard on his legs, but he knew each floor down would translate into a climb up after he found and freed Sarah. On the landing between the sixth and seventh floors down, a light on the GEE began to blink.

I have detected someone else in the stairwell.

John hurried down to the next level and pulled at the door's handle, but it wouldn't open. Believing he heard a conversation, John put his ear to the door. It was an announcement over the PA system, too muffled to make out completely, but John was pretty sure the guy Georgie had sent to mark the burnt-out light had noticed the damaged fence and reported it. John tried pulling the door open one more time, then pushing, but that yielded no results either.

"Shouldn't you be doing something to get this door open?" John asked the GEE in an exasperated tone. He wanted to kick the door or scream at the GEE, but that would only attract the attention of whoever was in the stairwell, wherever they were.

The door suddenly opened with John's hand still grasping the handle, the door's edge cracking him sharply on the chin. A surprised face looked back at him. But then something in the man's expression changed and he grabbed John by the arm, pulling him through the doorway and down a brightly lit hallway.

John was too shocked to resist as the stranger opened another door and shoved him inside. John sank to the floor, unsure what to do as he heard a key turn in the lock and the man's footsteps walking away.

###  Chapter Twenty-Eight

John panicked. "What should I do? How do I get out of this? Tell me what to do!" he implored the GEE. Without waiting for it to respond he attacked the door, disregarding the noise or the fact that he knew it was locked and too solid to give way even if he possessed any real measure of strength. He was already trapped; he had nothing to lose. When he heard footsteps approaching the door again, he wasn't sure whether to count it as a victory. Backing up, John tripped on something and fell hard against a shelf, knocking several unseen plastic bottles to the floor.

The key turned in the lock again, and the stranger from earlier reappeared as a silhouette in the doorway. He joined John in the small space and closed the door behind him, waiting for the click of the latch before switching on the bare bulb above them.

"You must be JD," the man said. He wore a stained blue jumpsuit that had a patch with a name embroidered on it.

"You must be Billy," John countered.

The other man smiled and reached around John. He grabbed a large bucket and flipped it upside down. "Have a seat, JD. I know why you're here and you're going to need a plan. This is a safe spot to work on that."

John scowled. "You... want to help me?" he asked skeptically.

"Of course I do," the janitor responded as if it were obvious. He began replacing the bottles of chemicals and cleaning products that John had knocked over. "They found your hole in the fence and an alarm has been raised. Only a few people in the company know the truth about these lower floors, so aboveground they think it's just a fire drill. But they know you're here for Sarah, and the guards around her room have been put on notice. I didn't get a good look at how many they have down there, but it was more than before you gave your interview."

"How many were there earlier?"

"Two." The janitor pulled a spare jumpsuit out and handed it to John. "You'll need that. The guards at the door aren't the only ones you have to worry about. But you don't have to worry about anyone here contacting the authorities; they want to find you themselves. They'll have started a search for you, going floor by floor. We'll have to get down to her before they get past this floor."

"What do you mean we?" John asked. "What are we going to do and why would you help me?"

"In the interview earlier tonight, what you said about losing your sister... I also lost my little sister when I was growing up."

John pulled his sleeve up so Billy could see the GEE. He knew Billy wouldn't be the only one who would offer to help him in exchange for information. It was a situation that left him conflicted. He was going to work his way through the cases that needed his personal attention, and the GEE had told him those were the ones where he had something significant to learn or the victim and their family had something to learn. He sympathized with these people who had suffered; he genuinely wanted to help them. But it almost felt like extortion to have them demand those answers in exchange for help. Or maybe that was what the GEE had meant and he'd simply misunderstood. He struggled to keep the note of disappointment from his voice as he asked, "What's your full name, Billy? Or do you already have the case number memorized?"

But Billy shook his head. "No, it's not like that. I know what happened to her. We were playing out in the street with our neighbors after school one day, just throwing a ball around, monkey-in-the-middle, I think. It was something we did all the time. We lived on a dead-end road so it was pretty safe from cars. I threw the ball too far over my buddy's head when she was the monkey, and she took off after it. It rolled into the main street at the end of our road and she went in after it. I remember the sound of the tires when the car tried to stop and the noise the engine made when the driver gunned it and drove off again. She died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. They played the story on the news that night and the driver turned himself in the next day. He went to prison for a while, mostly because he fled the scene. They did go easy on him since it was truly an accident. She knew better than to run into the road like that. She was just too excited. She was always getting overexcited like that. It's probably what I miss most about her."

John was confused and he was terrible at hiding it.

"I can't imagine what it would have been like to not know who had hit her, who had killed Maria," Billy tried to explain better. "It was bad enough losing her, but not knowing... I don't think we ever would have been able to make peace with it. I felt so guilty for so long. I still do. But I know she would have forgiven me, even though I still struggle with forgiving myself. I've found it easier to hate myself than him. My parents thought about hiring a lawyer to either sue the guy for wrongful death or see what could be done about getting him a harsher sentence, but when they took the time to pray and reflect they decided against it. We needed to put it behind us. Taking our grief out on him wouldn't bring Maria back." Billy turned back around and dug around in a pile of dirty jumpsuits and rags. "What you're trying to do for those families, for those people who are suffering, I admire it. If I can do something to help you, it's the least I can do. For Maria." He held out a face mask for John and had another for his own use.

"You have a plan for getting to Sarah?" John accepted the face mask, examining it.

"I do," Billy said. "But you're going to have to wear those, not just hold them."

"Right." John turned his back to the janitor and stepped into the stale-smelling one-piece jumpsuit. This one had a patch with the name "Andy" embroidered on it. John could hear Billy picking and choosing supplies. When he turned around, Billy held out a mop for John to take. He was carrying a yellow bucket with wheels on the bottom and a specially designed plastic basket for the necessary chemicals and solutions.

"Follow my lead, newbie," Billy said with a wink.

Billy led the way down the last flight of stairs to the floor where Sarah was being held and swiped a key card through a reader off to the side of the door.

"We start at the far end and work our way back to the stairwell," Billy said loudly, drawing the attention of half a dozen men barring the hallway around a door painted the same shade as the surrounding wall. They were far more intimidating than the security guards John had watched monitoring the perimeter. Armed with more than just flashlights and walkie-talkies, they looked like they'd used their weapons for more than just practice and on more than one occasion.

"I'm sorry," one of the guards said sternly, stepping away from the others and pointing Billy and John back to the stairs. "You're not authorized to be here."

"If I wasn't authorized to be here, my pass wouldn't have worked on the door, now would it?" Billy pointed out. "We have to clean through here, but we'll do our best to stay out of your way." Given the confused and mildly peeved expression on the face of the guard who had challenged them, John suspected Billy's pass shouldn't have worked and that the GEE must have assisted silently. Still, Billy's explanation at least assuaged the guard's concern to a degree.

"Fine," the man said. He returned to his post. "But you'll need to make it quick and keep out of our way as best you can."

"I'll see what I can do. Good news is I've got help; bad news is he's still pretty new, so we'll have to see just how quick he is to pick it up." Billy gave John a playful punch on the arm and a laugh; some of the guards chuckled, not fully relieving the tension but at least putting a friendly face on it. "Come on, Andy. Down this end. And remember, mask up." The guards got out of the way as Billy and John moved past them. Compared to the other hallways John had caught glimpses of on the ground floor, this was a short one. There were two or three other doors. Sarah's was pretty close to the hall's halfway point.

Adjusting his mask, John did his best to mimic Billy's movements and technique. John thought it would seem more natural if they could get some small talk started but was at a loss for where to start. He had to settle for Billy correcting him and scolding him for continuing to do an inadequate job. Even with the face mask, the fumes from the solution they were using to clean the floor were making him lightheaded.

Billy looked up from time to time, checking on the guards around the door. It didn't take very long for them to start fidgeting and blinking. As the cleaning crew made quick progress down the hall, the guards became more and more visibly affected by the chemical fumes. Billy and John were about ten feet from the guards when one of the men caught himself against the wall, fighting to remain conscious and on his feet. The man next to him said, "Joe, take a breather." Nodding in agreement, Joe stumbled down the hall toward the stairwell.

"Wait!" Billy held a hand out to John, motioning for him to stop what he was doing. He lifted the mask from his face long enough to take an evaluative sniff. "What did you do, Andy?" Billy asked loudly, attracting the attention of the others. "This batch doesn't smell right. How'd you mix it? How much of each?"

John gave Billy a legitimately confused look. "Uh..."

"You don't even remember, do you? Do you pay attention to anything I tell you? You stay put right here. Use the rest of what I mixed. Just spray the floor with it for now." He handed a bottle to John. "I'm gonna get rid of this stuff before everyone drops." He picked up the bucket John had been using to wipe down the floor and carried it past the remaining guards. "I'm sorry about this, guys. You'd better start taking turns going for breaks until I can get a fan down here to help with the fumes. I won't be more'n a few minutes."

The guards sighed, but that caused another to shake on his feet; he staggered after Billy down the hall to the stairs, sending Joe back. John was doing his best to keep cleaning the floor so that no one would see how much he was shaking. He had no idea what his next move should be. Had Billy really just abandoned him down here with six guards between him and Sarah? Sure, they weren't one hundred percent while contending with the fumes, but there were still six of them and one of him. They were still armed, and even if they weren't he was no match for any one of them physically. If any of them so much as fell on him, simply passed out and landed against him, he wouldn't even be able to get out from underneath without help. And if the fumes were doing such a number on these guys, what would they do to Sarah? What might they already be doing to Sarah? It wasn't like she had a window in there. Could the fumes be working their way through the cracks around the door and collecting in a way that would harm her?

But Billy was back before the guards had even finished a single rotation through their ranks. "I couldn't find a fan but I did manage to scrounge these up," he told them, holding out face masks like the ones he and John wore. They took the masks, offering their thanks, and used Billy and John as references to be sure they attached the masks correctly. "They should help you cope with the fumes. Again, I'm sorry about this. Could've sworn the newbie had mixed everything together right. Won't be too much longer now anyway. Then we'll be out of your hair."

As Billy spoke, one of the guards slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. Another bent over to help his buddy up but only managed to fall over alongside his colleague. By the time Billy finished his apologetic speech, every one of the guards was passed out on the floor. Billy gave John a wink. He pulled one last face mask from his pocket and held it out to John. "For your girl in there. Don't worry, this one's chloroform-free." Then Billy grabbed the closest guard by the shoulders and began slowly dragging him down the hall toward the stairwell, leaving John with nothing but a door between him and Sarah.

###  Chapter Twenty-Nine

The GEE displayed the necessary code before John could even ask for it. He had to put his whole weight against the door to push it open. It looked like a prison cell. There was a single cot, a bare-bones toilet, and something that he guessed was a sink. It was clean, though. Spotless. Of course, Sarah had been there less than twenty-four hours. She was lying on the cot, her back turned to John. He froze, as an image of Jessica Bailey flashed into his mind. The dirty mattress, the cuts and bruises, the terror on her face as she turned around just before she was murdered. He prayed that Sarah was only sleeping.

The fumes from the hallway leaked into the room and John saw Sarah stir. Seeing her move kicked John into action.

"Sarah," he said her name quietly. She looked over her shoulder and when she saw him she rolled over on the cot, farther away from him, pressing against the wall. Surprise and fear were evident in her face even as she did her best to stare John down. He went rigid. Physically she appeared fine, but there was something very wrong in the way she looked at him. It scared him. He tried to come up with something comforting or reassuring to say, but all that made it out was her name again, whispered, tinged with relief and his own fear.

Something softened in her expression momentarily before he watched her scrutinizing his face. He fought a laugh, rubbed a hand over his darker, shorter hair and moved the face mask aside so she had an easier time recognizing him. "John?" She scooted forward on the cot to get a better look. She blinked several times and then coughed.

"I'm such an idiot," he said, readjusting his face mask and hurrying over to her side with the spare Billy had given him. Her eyes flitted to the doorway where Billy was dragging another incapacitated guard to the air-rich stairwell. He put the mask over her face and helped her to stand. She was still having a difficult time grasping what exactly was happening, but she took a moment to give him a grateful hug.

"John, what have you done to yourself?" she asked, reaching up to feel how much shorter his hair was. "Are you wearing contacts?"

The mask made it difficult to understand what she was saying, and John knew he didn't have a whole lot of time to figure out what to do about getting them out of the building unnoticed. And what about Billy? The guards would eventually wake up and it wouldn't take them too long to figure out he was in on the escape, right? John decided the best thing to do was stop thinking and do what came instinctively. He started to unzip the jumpsuit and extricate himself from it.

Sarah, registering John's urgency, had stopped trying to start a conversation. She went to the cot and stripped off the meager mattress. Picking up the jumpsuit John had just shed, she started stuffing it inside, miming for John to help. When Billy came back to drag away another of the guards, John called out, "Wait." He ran over and removed the man's weapon. "Could you get the guns off the others in the stairwell and bring them back here?" he asked Billy. The janitor nodded and started hauling the guard behind him.

John moved to the side of the only guard remaining in the hallway and removed his firearm as well. Apparently dragging buckets of water and cleaning supplies around the building had trained Billy to move quickly and efficiently. He went back into the room where Sarah was finishing with the jumpsuit and mattress. She held it upright but neither was completely satisfied with the result. Still, it might buy them a few moments.

"Put it at the far end of the hallway," John instructed. Sarah wrestled the awkwardly constructed dummy out of the room and down the hall. While Sarah was busy, John laid the guns he'd collected onto the stripped-down cot. He knew the GEE could show him how to remove the ammunition, but he also knew they didn't have the time it would take to do that. He'd have to settle for locking them away.

"Here," Billy said as he brought the remaining guns into the room and laid them alongside the others. He'd discovered a few knives on the guards and laid them down with the guns, then dropped a small stack of electronic key cards on top of the pile. The guards would have to wait for additional help to show up before making it out of the stairwell and back into the hallway.

"How does this look?" Sarah asked. The unexpected sight of Billy and the weapons on the cot made her take a step back. She was reassured when John came out into the hallway first, followed by a curious Billy. Unconsciously, she maneuvered herself so that John was between her and the unknown janitor. The way she'd positioned the mattress-stuffed jumpsuit against a door jamb, it was impossible to tell that it lacked a head, hands, and feet. It looked like one more incapacitated being in need of assistance.

"Looks fine," John assured her. He moved to pull the door of her room closed but Billy stopped him.

"You should lock me in there," he told John.

"What? No," John said. "You're coming with us. It won't be safe for you once they figure out you've helped me break her free."

"What evidence will they have?" Billy asked. "From what I saw of your interview, that device of yours is pretty powerful. I know it helped us get onto this floor. I'm guessing it has done something to the security cameras."

"Still," John objected, "locking you in there would only confirm that you were down here when those guards were attacked. If they're in the stairwell, you should take their masks back and hide them. Go find a fan like you said, and make sure someone spots you on your way back down here. If someone's with you when you find the guards, then when they wake they'll think they made it out there on their own or that they imagined you doing anything that might be considered helping me."

Billy nodded his acceptance of John's plan. "That device, it can show you a way out?"

"Most definitely," John promised.

Billy reached out and shook John's hand. "Best of luck to you."

"Thanks for your help. I don't know what I would have done without you," John said, though he knew the GEE would have figured something out eventually. "There aren't many people who'd help like that."

"You might be surprised," Billy said with a smile as he moved back to where the guards were passed out in the stairwell.

John finished pulling the door closed and asked the GEE if there was a code he needed to punch in to lock it.

The door is locked and a new code has been assigned. It will be a while before they can be sure you have Sarah with you. That will buy you time as you make your escape this morning.

"John, why don't you ask it how we get out of here?" Sarah pushed. She was ready to get away and start putting her experiences of the last twenty-four hours behind her, along with more than a handful of miles. She took John's free hand and tugged him down the other end of the hall from where Billy had headed.

John had thought it was a dead-end hallway, but one of the doors he'd thought opened into another room like the one Sarah had been trapped in actually opened into another hallway. The GEE guided them through a maze of deserted, interconnected hallways that finally opened onto a doorway to a new stairwell and a bank of elevators. Sarah pulled John toward the stairs but he held her back for a moment, placing a finger to his lips.

There was a faint grinding sound of gears and pulleys in action. "How many guards are coming?" John asked the GEE.

There are six in each elevator.

Sarah tugged on John's hand again, eager to be on their way. "How many on the stairs?"

None. Emitting an electromagnetic pulse at the right moment will trap them on the elevator between floors, ensuring your escape.

"You can do that?"

Of course. Be aware it will also knock out power to much of the surrounding lights as well.

"I think we can handle the dark for a little while," John said, finally going with Sarah to the stairs. As soon as they were safely in the stairwell, the GEE sent out its electromagnetic pulse and the lights blinked out, leaving the pair momentarily in the dark. The GEE began to glow with a bright, blue-white light.

That has disabled anything using electricity to several surrounding floors in this wing of the building. I will emit similar pulses as we continue on our way up and out of the building.

"Sounds good to me," John said. Still holding Sarah's hand, they climbed the flights of stairs back to the ground floor. Not halfway up, Sarah squeezed John's hand to get him to take a break. Leaning her head close to the wall, she smiled. John strained to hear what it was that had her smiling.

The wall of the stairwell bordered one of the elevator shafts. The stranded guards were banging and hollering at one another and to anyone who might be in earshot, trying to find a way to restore power to the elevator or at least get out. It sounded as though the electromagnetic pulse had disabled their flashlights as well as their radios, leaving them crowded in the dark with nothing but their wits and firearms. Someone had found and opened the panel in the ceiling of the elevator car, but they had yet to locate the ladder that ran up one side of the shaft.

"We need to keep going," Sarah reminded John.

John found he didn't mind the burning in his muscles as he hurried back up those flights of stairs. With Sarah's hand in his, an uncomfortable pressure had vanished from his chest, though he didn't think the cloud of fear would dissipate until they'd put at least a hundred miles between them and this complex – that is, if the fear ever would go away.

They had reached the door to the ground floor. Cautiously they pulled it open ever so slightly. They saw several guards who had been fetched from areas of the building unaffected by the GEE's first pulse. Two held flashlights while a third was using a crowbar to wedge open the elevator doors. John silently let the door close.

I will emit another pulse. The guards will be thrown briefly into chaos and confusion, and the two of you must make a run for the hall directly across the way while they are preoccupied.

Easing the door open just a crack, John and Sarah spotted their target and stood ready. Then the GEE sent out another pulse and the hall was thrown into darkness. They bolted as curses reverberated off the walls and echoed in the half-opened elevator shaft. The crowbar fell through the opening and clanged off one of the walls before narrowly missing the guard standing atop the elevator car. He hollered his displeasure, though he might have been louder had he seen just how close the piece of metal had come to embedding itself in his skull. More lights would need to be found, as well as another crowbar or suitable substitute. Meanwhile, the guards several floors below went to work using the tool that had fallen to try and open the doors of their stalled elevator car and the doors to the hallway beyond. Stuck between floors, even if they succeeded it would be a tight squeeze, but they would at least be free of the elevator.

John and Sarah heard none of the exchange. They had already turned another corner before they slowed down to follow the GEE's directions out of the building's labyrinth of hallways. Whenever they paused to catch their breath, they could hear footsteps and activity in the distance, on the floors above and below them. The GEE found or created a path that proved conveniently deserted. Once or twice, they caught a glimpse of lights flickering out at the distant end of a hallway, but they never got close enough to make out where or who the lights were coming from.

Finally the GEE directed them to a door that led outside. John intended to keep to the shadows; but the sky was beginning to lighten with the approaching dawn, and the shadows were shrinking. Extra guards had been sent out and stood on either side of the fence. "Where did they all come from?" he whispered to Sarah. "It's like they're hatching more of them by the minute."

"I think they have a floor of them on-site," Sarah explained. "Not sure why they need them here twenty-four hours a day, but they're here."

"So how do we get past them? It's getting lighter, and that's only going to make this harder."

"Make a break for it, I guess," Sarah suggested. But the GEE had a response of its own.

There is a gate right across from you. It is generally used for maintenance. It also leads into the area of the surrounding fields that offers the most cover. You will have a bit of a walk, but no further trouble getting back to your vehicle.

"And the guards? There are two that I can spot from here," John pointed out.

I'll take care of that as well. You just run and don't stop.

High-pitched static began to screech through the air from the walkie-talkies of the guards around them. John gritted his teeth against the noise; the guards, far closer to the source, were in physical pain. One dropped his weapon and put both hands over his ears. Another was fiddling with the radio, trying to get the batteries out of the back. When he succeeded, it had no effect on the noise. He dropped the unit and stomped on it but the noise would not go away. Finally, he fled.

With the guards distracted, John and Sarah dashed to the gate. The GEE had already unlocked it so that all John had to do was push gently and it swung open. A low bush was about thirty yards beyond. They crouched down behind it to catch their breath. John peeked up to see whether the guards had seen anything. But the nails-on-chalkboard sound continued and was joined by the lights along the fence blinking sequentially, like Christmas decorations. The nearby guards all had their backs turned to the escapees. They hadn't even noticed the gate, swinging in the pre-dawn breeze.

Sarah tugged on John's arm to get his attention. He ducked his head back out of sight, his body tense in the expectation that she'd seen something he'd missed. "What? Did you..." She kissed him. His body relaxed and he reached up, entangling his fingers in her hair, something he'd thought about doing on several occasions in the past. After a moment, she pulled away and smiled at him. He brushed a wisp of her hair away from her eyes. She reached up and took his hand in hers, bringing them both down to the dusty grass beside them.

"Thanks for coming for me," she said.

"Well, you were only in there because of me," he admitted.

"Oh, I know. Entirely your fault," she joked. "Now where's the getaway car? We need to get out of here before there's too much light and we're easier to spot."

John nodded his head in the general direction. Sarah stood and pulled him up with her. They moved swiftly and quietly through the deserted field, Sarah frequently taking the lead though she was mostly just guessing. She hid any surprise she felt when John showed her the car Kiel had acquired for him, holding out a hand for the keys.

"You want to drive?" John asked.

"Why not? You've got that thing," she nodded at the GEE. "You can navigate."

###  Chapter Thirty

"Where should we go?" Sarah asked. They'd been on the road more than a half-hour, both of them looking over their shoulders at regular intervals to be sure no one was following. So far it looked like they'd managed get away clean. But they must have passed employees on their way to work at the complex. Neither voiced their conviction that someone would remember them and mention it after learning there had been a break-in during the night.

Sarah sighed. "I'm guessing home is out, since they managed to find me at work. They probably know where I live, maybe followed me from there in the first place."

"They know it had to be me that broke in and got you out. So yeah, I'd say it would be unwise to go back home." John was glad Sarah was driving. Now that they were safely away, the adrenaline drained from his system and he felt his exhaustion down to his very bones.

"We'll have to find a motel or something," Sarah suggested. "Somewhere we can clean up, get some sleep, grab something to eat. At least, that's a goal for the short term. Got any long-term ideas?"

"Did you see anything of the interview I did last night?"

"Oh, yeah. They wheeled a television in and popped some popcorn for me," she answered sarcastically. "It was a little on the salty side."

"Okay, I get the point. There's no need to get snarky. I haven't seen it except on the monitors while we were filming. I don't think I used your full name, and I know they never showed your picture."

"And you've... done... stuff to change your appearance," she pointed out. "As soon as your hair grows out a little more, you have to let me fix it."

"What's wrong with it?" John asked defensively.

"Nothing," she said unconvincingly. "It just doesn't look... like you."

"That was kind of the point."

"I know, but... it's hard to explain." So she stopped trying. "Now, back to long-term ideas. Do you want to find a place where we can just stay put and you can work? Or do you think we'll be living a nomadic existence from here on out?"

"I think we'll have to wait and see," he hedged. "They'll probably be after us pretty quick, but I have no idea how they'll try to find us this time. I know that they were able to trace me because of that reporter... That reporter!"

"Ben Briggs, right? What about him?" Sarah asked, confused by John's sudden shift.

"They kidnapped him. They tried to get him to give me up, but I guess they got my e-mail before they could break him. I doubt that they just let him go." John turned to the GEE. "Do the people who are after me have Ben Briggs? Was he at the same facility where Sarah was?" He thought back to the doors that lined the hallway where he'd found and freed Sarah. Why hadn't he asked the GEE earlier to open the other doors to see if anyone else was being held?

Ben Briggs was not at that facility but those chasing you are holding him. It is unlikely they will physically harm him since they do not think he has any further information regarding your identity or current whereabouts. They will hold onto him a while longer to keep him quiet.

"Do you think they'll kill him?" John asked, terrified. Even if they didn't kill Briggs, John doubted his captors would set the reporter up comfortably. John didn't want to think about what methods they might use to determine if Briggs had any further useful information.

They will not kill him unless they are certain they don't need him to find you again.

"He tracked me once and they think he might be able to do it again." John wasn't sure how the reporter had managed to find him in the first place, but it couldn't have been easy. He suspected that with the GEE erasing any digital evidence of John Daniels and any further footprints he left behind, Ben Briggs would find repeating the task impossible.

"Do you want to go back for him?" Sarah asked. "Maybe you should call Kiel first. They might already know he's missing and have people looking for him."

"They know," John informed her. "It came out during the interview. But I don't know how much the police can do right now. They're swamped. Of course, they'll have the pressure from the media pushing them to do something. There are probably volunteers looking for him right now."

"Then call Kiel," Sarah urged.

"GEE, can you get through to Kiel for me?" John requested. "And put it on speaker. You're part of this now, Sarah, whether you like it or not. Sorry about that again."

"I'll figure out some way to get in touch with the people who matter to me and let them know I'm safe. And if Mrs. Jensen doesn't like it... too bad for her, I guess."

"Lieutenant Samuels," Kiel answered.

"Kiel, it's John," he said loudly. "I've got Sarah and we're on the road."

"Hi, Kiel," Sarah spoke up.

"Thank God you're both all right," Kiel said.

"How're you doing after your ordeal?" John asked. "Hope you didn't get too cramped."

"I think I fell asleep for a while, actually," Kiel said, trying to make light of the stunt. "It's probably the soundest sleep I've had in the last two weeks. Not likely to get a whole lot more for a while either."

"Thanks again for all your help, Kiel," John said.

"You got a plan yet? Obviously, you can't come back here," Kiel stipulated. "There are people looking for you, but right now the news outlets are reporting that you've likely been kidnapped. You've actually got a lot of supporters out there. You should check out some of the sites popping up offering help and money if you need it."

"What?" John was surprised. He thought Billy had been a weird exception. "Well, you've got to tell people that I'm okay. I don't want them worrying about me. Or Sarah. Not like that, anyway."

"People will figure it out when you get back to unsealing cases again," Sarah pointed out.

"But that doesn't... if there are people out there who want to help, I want to hear from them and I want them to hear from me," John argued.

"I can release a statement for you if you like," Kiel offered.

"Like a press conference?" John asked.

"Just a statement. Write something up and send it to me. I'll make sure the media gets it," Kiel promised.

"But what would I even say?"

"We're safe," Sarah said. "Say that you're not going to stop. That this... experience has only made you more determined to keep going. Threats won't stop you, and you appreciate the support that's poured in."

"That's pretty good. What she just said. Put that into a statement and send it to Kiel," John told the GEE.

"What, Sarah, are you his assistant now?" Kiel asked, confused.

"He was talking to that thing on his wrist," she explained.

"It's called the GEE," John said pointedly.

"Wait... I just got an e-mail," Kiel said, surprised. "It looks like it's got your official statement. This GEE is a better assistant than you could be, Sarah."

"I think I'll take that as a compliment," Sarah said hesitantly.

"I'll get this sent out while you get to work," Kiel said. "And for the record, I think you should ignore what that poll website says and start with opening up the cases of those guys that went after you and kidnapped Sarah." The background noise of the station grew louder, and John knew that Kiel would have to get off the line soon.

"What website?" Sarah was curious.

"I'm not going to open those cases just yet," John said, ignoring Sarah for the moment. After they found a place where they could stop and rest for a while, he'd get the GEE to pull up the interview and show her. He'd explain everything that had happened since he'd spoken with her on the phone... was it really just the previous morning he'd called her up from the diner to kill time?

"Why not?" Kiel asked, surprised. "If they're busy dealing with the fallout from the website exposing them, they should be too preoccupied to go after you again. Plus, they'll have to face the justice system eventually. Why not sooner rather than later? And in the meantime, the court of public opinion can have them."

John tried to explain. "I don't know enough about them to be comfortable doing something like that. I know this goes deeper than just the guys we've run across so far. If I start with those cases, it'll just go deeper and deeper. There are too many other families out there waiting for answers. I don't want to get so involved in going after the guys who are after me that I wind up ignoring everyone and everything else."

"Then you're going to have to keep on the move," Kiel said thoughtfully. "You give them that bubble of protection that could pop without warning, and they'll do everything they can to find you and keep you from popping that bubble."

"We'll keep that in mind," Sarah said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"Besides, pursuing their case is exactly what they'd expect me to do," John said optimistically. "Maybe if I don't tackle it right away, they'll back off, like a truce. That would give me time to look into these guys and figure out how big a network we're dealing with."

"You might not be able to get much information on them until after you open some of those files," Sarah pointed out before John could get too excited.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe they'll come forward before we can out them. It would look better for them," John said, refusing to let go of the optimism.

"Given the lengths they're willing to go to in order to cover their asses, coming forward voluntarily probably won't make them look good enough for the public to overlook whatever it is they've done," Sarah pushed back.

"Listen, guys, I've got to go," Kiel said, sounding a little distracted. "I'll get this statement out. Um... keep me posted on how you're doing?"

"No worries," Sarah promised. "You're our inside connection."

"Lucky me. I'll talk to you guys later."

After hanging up, they drove a few minutes in silence before John bit the bullet and spoke up. "You know we won't really have to worry too much about anyone finding us," he offered. "The GEE will keep us safe. It got us out of that complex without incident."

"Don't forget you had what's-his-name's help," Sarah reminded him. "And what about these websites that Kiel mentioned? For every site posting support and encouragement, there's bound to be one matching it where someone wants to stop you and has a bounty out on your head. Someone posts an offer of help, another publishes that they've seen you at point A headed toward point B, making it easier for someone looking for us to track us down."

"We'll figure it out," John reassured her. "Together." He wanted to reach for her hand but both were on the steering wheel so he settled for her thigh. Realizing how suggestive that might seem, he took his hand back quickly and blushed, but Sarah just laughed at his discomfort and reached over to take his hand in hers.

"So tell me about the interview and the websites Kiel mentioned," Sarah prompted with a smile.

"I haven't had a chance to check any of the sites out. I was a little busy." He squeezed her hand. "What was Kiel talking about, GEE? What's up with these sites?"

I have compiled a list of the sites in question. They are mostly built to work like message boards where people are sharing their stories with one another. There is a thread that's been created for you.

"For me how?"

It includes offers of assistance, both financial and practical. Available spare rooms, meal invitations, clothing and other supplies you might find yourself short of wherever you are. There is another thread discussion regarding another site where people post sightings of you. Some have discussed posting false sightings to the site in question to make it more difficult for anyone to trace you if they should try. Of course, nearly all of the sightings so far are false. People who only think they've seen you. Nothing so far mentions the changes you've made to your appearance.

"Is there a way I can respond to them without it being traceable?"

Of course. If you wish, I will also enable discussion through the original site. You can correspond directly with the victims and their families. Whether aspects of your interactions with them is made available to the public at large will be up to you and the parties involved. If you decide to take someone up on an offer of assistance, steps can and will be taken to protect them from harm. I shall also keep you apprised of which offers are safe and genuine before you accept any of them.

"I should hope so," Sarah interjected. "We should probably get a bit farther away from the city before we try to stop for a real rest, especially if Kiel releases that statement. It's bound to go viral and the sightings will multiply. And if you decide to go ahead and start blogging about what you're doing... I honestly can't imagine how people will react."

"GEE, can you send us a warning message when postings to that sightings page start to pile up?" John requested. "Genuine sightings, that is. We'll need a way to know when it's time to get moving again. Keep one step ahead."

"So then, what do you want to do first? Just start on more cases?" Sarah asked. Other than away from the city, she didn't have a particular destination or direction in mind. "We'll need to stop for gas soon. That means security cameras that will see us and people we'll need to talk to."

"Briggs," John said with determination. "We should see what we can do to help him. The GEE has his location. If we find something nearby, we can put together a plan to get him out."

"He's the reason they found you." Sarah was hesitant. She'd only just regained her freedom. She didn't exactly relish the prospect of running into her captors again so soon after escaping them. She was caught off guard when they grabbed her the previous morning and she wished she'd reacted faster, fought back harder, done more to protect herself. Grateful as she was that John rescued her, she hated that she'd been so easily overpowered. She knew she was smarter and more effective than that.

"I wasn't being as careful as I should have been," John said in Briggs' defense. "They would have found me on their own eventually. He just found me first. And no one should be treated the way they're undoubtedly treating him."

"Fair enough," Sarah admitted. "We'll have to turn around, head back toward the city, won't we?"

"Not necessarily," John said, turning to the location listing on the GEE. "It looks like they took him a ways outside the city. Not the same place they kept you, but not too far from where we are now either."

"Then let's go," Sarah said, coming around.

John smiled and squeezed Sarah's hand again. When he'd first received the GEE and learned about his mission, the prospect was overwhelming and intimidating. Even though the website had made the task more dangerous and difficult, with Sarah's help it didn't seem as impossible.

"Have you figured out who it was that sent it to you yet?" she asked.

"The GEE? I'm pretty sure I know, but I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you."

"GEE? Like an acronym?"

"I guess," he said though he'd never thought to ask. "What does GEE stand for?"

God's Eyes and Ears.

###   
### Sought (JD2)

Now that John Daniels has Sarah Parrish safely by his side, their first order of business becomes rescuing the kidnapped reporter, Ben Briggs – the man who first identified John as the creator of the website that sent the whole world into chaos only a week earlier. Thanks to that very website, the still-skeptical police and volunteer searchers are also being kept apprised of Briggs' location, forcing the criminals that have him to keep him moving from one place to another. Who will be the first to reach Briggs, and will they get to him before his inconvenienced captors decide to take more drastic measures for solving their annoying problem? If John and Sarah are able to save him, will Briggs prove cooperative or will he choose to cause even more trouble for the pair? John remains determined to continue using the GEE in pursuing his mission, and Sarah shows that she's determined to do everything she can to help him (whether John appreciates her efforts or not).

John and Sarah must figure out what they want from their evolving relationship and how to make things work while John's mission keeps them constantly on the move and "home" becomes a string of motels and strangers' spare rooms. Is it even possible for them to date while working to bring closure to millions of families around the world and keeping themselves out of the hands of the authorities? John turns to his close friend and inside contact with the police, Lieutenant Kiel Samuels, for advice and a sense of something familiar. It turns out Kiel has a bit more experience with the subject than John first realized. And while it is true that Sarah trusts John with her life, does she really trust the GEE? And if she can't, what will that mean for her relationship with John? Will John be forced to choose between a future with Sarah and answers about the past and what happened to his younger sister, Mia? Their encounters with people along their way help them learn about themselves, what they really mean to each other, and the future they hope to build together.

Even as they struggle to establish a new sense of normalcy, forces begin gathering in the shadows with sinister purposes. Adelaide Furson is more than just impressed with the GEE and the website even as they threaten to put her directly into the hands of the authorities. While she may not know everything the device is capable of accomplishing, she has more than a few ideas that she'd like to have the opportunity to try. In order to secure that opportunity for herself, however, she must first manage to get her hands on the GEE, which also means facing the improbable task of getting it away from a vigilant John. Adelaide quickly decides that she's up for the challenge. But how do you go about stealing a device when it knows you're coming before you even get close? Adelaide's determination and cunning are put to the test as she plots and cons her way closer and closer to an unsuspecting John and Sarah. Will Adelaide succeed with her plots or will someone else – someone worse – get there before she can? Can John protect both Sarah and the GEE when he doesn't know what's coming?

###   
###  Shadows Lurk (JD3)

John Daniels is distraught over the loss of the GEE. It was clearly stolen, but who could have taken it? Why? And most importantly, how? Convinced that it is his fault in more ways than one, the last thing he wants to deal with is meeting Lieutenant Kiel Samuels' newly-rescued girlfriend, Alison. Explaining that he is JD—yes, _that_ JD—and answering questions about the mission he has undertaken will be a complete waste of time—especially since explaining is so much harder to do without the GEE. Explaining to his best friend what happened to the GEE proves equally unappealing. As the repercussions of his loss begin to appear in a fresh media storm, his despair grows.

Sarah Parrish is worried about her boyfriend. John has faced challenges before, but the depths of his despair over the missing GEE surprises and scares her. Luckily, she has gotten pretty good at avoiding her own fears by focusing her energy on helping John overcome his. Sarah aims to get John back on his feet by helping him to realize that he can investigate cases, find answers, and bring closure to families _without_ relying on the GEE as his primary resource; it may take him more time, but if he is willing to put in the extra effort, there is no reason she sees for why he cannot continue. She just needs to find the right case for him to work on. But will her efforts lift John from his misery, or will his determined pessimism prove to be a self-fulfilling prophecy?

Elsewhere, Adelaide Furson celebrates her recent victory, bringing the GEE with her to a remote cabin in the woods where she can have privacy and take her time bending the GEE to her will. She decides that her first order of business will be erasing all cases connected to her from the GEE website and gifting herself a fresh start—thankfully, none of the cases have been opened to the public yet. After that, she will thoroughly enjoy using it against her enemies to pad her bank account. However, from the moment she arrives at the cabin, things begin happening—strange and unsettling things that leave her questioning herself. Her frustration builds as she also discovers the GEE is not as simple a device as she originally thought. As events begin to get further out of Adelaide's control, she comes to the conclusion that she is going to need to bring someone in for help—and that the price of a new start may turn out to be her sanity.

Unbeknownst to John and Sarah (and Adelaide), the group Ryder Trenton warned them about has been gathering in the shadows. They are zeroing in on the GEE and have plenty of ideas for what to do with the GEE—all of them nefarious, though they prefer to think of them as necessary evils. Fueled by deep pockets and—temporarily—a common purpose, they dispatch an elite team of skilled operatives to retrieve the GEE and neutralize the threat John poses. In the race to recover the GEE, who will triumph and who will fall along the way?

###   
### Everyone's Vegetarian (SG1)

Imagine a world where animals never existed. Would Europeans have taken over America without plague-carrying rats? Without disease-spreading mosquitoes, would America have ever stopped using indentured servants instead of malaria-resistant slaves from Africa? If the conquistadors didn't have horses, isn't it possible we might be able to pop into an Aztec pub for a shot of fermented cactus pulp after work?

And what about all the great minds of history who were inspired by animals? Without birds, the Wright brothers wound up working in I.T. Without a meat industry to expose, Upton Sinclair wound up writing feel-good pabulum for a P.R. department. And without mice to inspire his signature creation, Walt Disney wound up as a bored call-center employee passing the time making notebook doodles.

Now imagine if – on July 4, 2020 – all the animals finally arrived.

Still dizzy from the Internet revolution, globalization, and a decade of mysterious plant mutations that triggered a worldwide recession, now the people of Earth have to deal with an even bigger disruption. Some people respond with fear and suspicion, running away from moths and crickets like they're alien invaders. Others think their new neighbors are a gift from God and get eaten by crocodiles. And – as always – the masters of the universe ask how all this will affect the bottom line. At the insistence of a chronologically displaced Sacagawea, the cutthroat CEO of a processed food empire teams up with a crafty blue blood whose family has manufactured luxury foods from human remains for generations. Together, the three venture off into this strange new frontier and launch a campaign to accomplish the unthinkable: to make people see these odd new creatures as food.

Meanwhile, regular folk are just trying to hold on. Farm workers who used to manually pollinate the plants or aerate the soil find themselves replaced by bees and earthworms. Shipping companies find their inventory gobbled up by rats. At first, it seems people are going to be sympathetic to the idea of killing and eating the animal invaders. Of course, when man's best friend shows up, looking up at them with big gentle eyes... Well, that complicates the plan a little.

In Everyone's Vegetarian, a family of four in Penobscot, Massachusetts has to come to terms with each others' passionate, divergent opinions about the creatures. Squanto DiCapisci – once a doctoral student of agricultural science who had to scrap his research because his control groups kept mutating – sees the animals as mindless pests. He didn't do so well the last time the rules of nature started changing, and isn't that optimistic things will be different this time around. His nephew, Dylan – a shy, bookish child – is fascinated by the creatures and takes an instant liking to them. Dylan's mother, Alawa DiCapisci, wants to know where these things are supposed to go to the bathroom. And Dylan's father, Collin O'Shaughnessy, just can't get enough of stupid cat videos on the Internet.

Together, this family – along with a few displaced historical figures – try to find their way in a world full of new perils, new opportunities, and an exponentially more complicated food chain. So, hop on the Wright brothers' plane and take off for adventure.

###  About the Author

Born in Adelaide, Australia, to Italian immigrants, Antonio Tripodi grew up believing the lies that his words weren't worth two cents, a belief that turned writing into a tiresome nightmare. His speaking little English as a child led to difficulties in primary school and fuelled those false beliefs regarding his writing, beliefs which he overcame with the help of his love for God and creating original stories. He chose to work with a professional creative writer to rewrite the manuscript, and editor to review, edit and proofread the manuscript.

After finishing Year Eleven, he went on to complete a Fitter and Turner Apprenticeship, Graphic Design Degree, Advanced Diploma in Christian Ministry and now is an author. Somewhere in between, he was a sales assistant, furniture removalist, bookkeeper and maintenance.

Tripodi has loved inventing things for as long as he can remember. At forty-six, he now realises the ultimate inventions are original stories that everyone loves to read. With God's help, he hopes to create great original stories and transport readers through factual and fictional worlds. Always working to improve his English and writing skills, Tripodi finds inspiration in the works of Anton Chekhov and F. Scott Fitzgerald.

His work on the JD Series began in the wake of his father's untimely death from a rare cancer in August 2012. Tripodi lives in Adelaide though he enjoys traveling frequently and has visited Japan, the UK, France, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium, Italy, the US, and the Netherlands.
