Code 6, p.22
Code 6, page 22
“They sounded like BS to me.”
“Fortunately, you don’t run the company.”
“And neither does my father. Wasn’t that the point you and Mr. Walker were making when you put on the dog and pony show for me?”
“Excuse me?”
Kate had never spoken this way to her father’s business partner, and she wasn’t sure what was driving it. Maybe it was Irving Bass’s crack about her screwed-up relationship with her father—her need to prove, if only to herself, that it was more love than hate.
“Buck could have found a way to pay Patrick’s ransom. The reason you said no has nothing to do with the CIA. The point was to humiliate my father in front of his daughter, so I could see with my own eyes that Jeremy Peel has the power to outvote him, even when he’s right. Even when it’s a matter of life and death.”
“Interesting,” he said, as he loaded two more shells in the chambers. “And I was under the impression that Sandra Levy was the only quack psychiatrist who had your father’s back.”
“It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see how jealous you are of him.”
“Now you’re way out of line, young lady.”
She probably was, but that didn’t stop her. “It was always my father who got the glory, the awards, the cover of Time magazine.”
“None of those things were important to me.”
“I believe you. I truly do. The issue isn’t that you never got those things. What bothers you is the fact that my father did.”
“And what bothers your father is that he reports to me. The CEO is boss, but the chairman of the board is the boss of the boss.”
“Dad told me what happened after your press conference. How you’re angling to be both chairman and CEO.”
“I never wanted his job. But for the good of the company, I would take the position.”
“Take,” she said, seizing on it. “That’s the key word. For a man like you, who literally has everything he wants, there comes a point in life when there’s no joy in getting more stuff. Unless you can take it from someone else.”
He closed the break on the loaded shotgun, ready for action. “Whatever ‘it’ means.”
“Could be just about anything. Money. Power. Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness. Whatever it hurts the other guy most to lose. After all, if there’s no loser, what’s the point?”
He raised his shotgun, aimed, and looked ready to yell “pull.”
“Live!” he shouted.
Two live doves flew from opposite towers. Peel waited for them to cross in the middle and brought them both down with a single blast of birdshot. He broke open his shotgun and looked at Kate.
“Exactly,” he said, shooting a quick glance toward the dead birds on the ground. “What’s the point?”
The house was too far away for Kate to walk, but she suddenly couldn’t stand being in the same zip code as him. She held her ground for a minute longer, glowering.
“Let me ask you, Mr. Peel. Did it make you feel like a bigger winner when you lied and told my mother her husband was cheating on her? Or when you heard my mother killed herself?”
Peel hand-signaled to the driver of the all-terrain vehicle, who started motoring toward them.
“I think it’s time this conversation ended,” he said.
“It was long overdue,” Kate said, as she started walking toward the dirt road.
Chapter 43
A hint of dawn colored the dark cabin’s only porthole. Patrick and Olga were alone, seated back-to-back on the floor, their wrists behind their waists and bound to the upright metal pole between them. It had been two hours since they’d seen Javier, when he’d dragged the crewman’s body out to the poop deck and pitched it over the ship’s rail. Patrick wondered how many bodies the harbor at Buenaventura had swallowed. He wondered if his or Olga’s would be next.
“Olga, you awake?” he whispered.
She didn’t answer. Dozing off under these conditions was the very definition of exhaustion. Patrick pressed his elbows into her back, nudging her awake.
“Olga, I think I hear footsteps.”
They listened. The door was closed, and all was quiet, save for a faint shuffling in the distance. It sounded like footfalls on the deck.
“Could be Javier coming back,” said Olga.
“Could be someone who saw the body go over the rail,” said Patrick.
It was reason for hope. Olga screamed for help. Patrick stomped his feet, as if running in place from a sitting position. The cabin door opened.
“I’m ba-ack,” said Javier.
They fell silent. How foolish it had been to think rescue was possible. The crewman had waited months for his wages, and no one cared what might become of him.
“You two look thirsty,” said Javier. He placed his knapsack on the counter, removed two bottles of water, and opened one.
“Something to drink, El Rubio?”
“No,” said Patrick.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Olga. “You need water.”
She was right, and with Javier holding the bottle to his lips, Patrick drank almost half a liter. Then Javier went to Olga.
“How about you?” he said, as he held the bottle for her. “Or do you need something stronger to wash last night’s taste out of your mouth?”
Olga ignored him and drank, but Patrick wanted to grab that bottle and smash it against Javier’s skull, the way he’d done to Inkface.
Javier stepped away and placed the near-empty bottle on the counter. “I’m guessing you could use a bathroom break. But first, let me explain how you get out of here alive. Sound good?”
Patrick didn’t answer.
“Yes,” said Olga.
Javier smiled insincerely. “Smart girl, Olga. El Rubio, you have some learning to do. If I ask a question, I expect an answer. If you don’t answer, that shows disrespect. If you disrespect me, there are serious consequences.”
He punctuated the sentence with a boot to Patrick’s belly, which left him gasping for air.
“Do we understand each other?”
Patrick managed to find enough breath to say, “Yes.”
“Good. Now, back to how you get out alive. I spoke to your friend Kate Gamble. I know exactly who she is. Or, should I say, I know who her father is. I told her this is no longer about money. There’s a new ransom demand.”
Patrick had a sick feeling as to where this monologue was likely heading.
“I give you one guess, El Rubio. What’s the new ransom?”
He didn’t answer. Javier delivered another swift kick, but this time it was to Olga’s ribs.
“Consequences,” said Javier. “Disrespect always has consequences. One more time, El Rubio: What’s the new ransom?”
“I don’t know,” said Patrick.
“But you do know,” Javier said, pacing like a professor as he spoke. “In fact, you are one of a very few people actually in a position to know. The new ransom is code. Not just any code. I’m talking about the code that you and Sandra Levy came within a whisker of stealing from Buck Technologies.”
He stopped and leaned toward Patrick, putting his face right in front of him. “That’s a name you didn’t expect to hear from me, isn’t it, Patrick? And for Olga’s sake, you’d better answer me.”
“It was unexpected.”
“So now you know I’m the real deal. And you know what you’re up against.”
“Who are you?” asked Patrick.
“Just a hardworking man who always keeps his customers happy. Whatever they want, I get it for them. Right, Olga?”
Patrick could almost feel her reluctance to answer.
“Right,” she said in a weak voice.
“At the moment, I have a very unhappy customer. But we’re going to fix that. Right, Olga?”
“Whatever you say,” she said.
“Exactly. Whatever I say. So listen to me, El Rubio. Listen good. I know you and this Sandra Levy tried to steal some kind of computer code from Buck Technologies.”
“That’s not true.”
Javier grabbed him by the throat. “Are you calling my customer a liar? Because a hostage is in no position to call anyone names. Got it?”
“Yes.”
He released his grip. “It’s the hostage taker who does the name-calling. Do you know what you are?”
The guy who is going to kill you the first chance he gets, was Patrick’s first thought. But he kept it to himself.
“You, El Rubio, are a computer geek. Which is a good thing. Because I am not a computer geek.”
Javier seemed to be waiting for a response of some sort, but Patrick didn’t want to say the wrong thing—something that would get him or Olga hurt. “Okay,” he said tentatively. “But I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“Then you’re the stupidest computer geek ever. Let me spell it out. You are being held for ransom. The ransom is code. To be honest, I can’t even begin to understand that code, much less explain it or describe it to Kate Gamble when I make my ransom demand. That’s a problem, right?”
“It could be,” said Patrick.
“Good answer, El Rubio. It could be. But it’s not. Because you can describe it. And you will.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Javier took a step back, his eyes narrowing with anger. “Seriously? That’s your answer? I make a simple request. I want the code that you and Sandra Levy tried to steal from Buck Technologies. And you’re telling me you have no idea what I’m talking about. Is that really where we are?”
“I didn’t try to steal anything. And I don’t know what code Sandra Levy was trying to steal.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Javier. He walked to the counter, pulled a hunting knife from his knapsack, and returned to the hostages. With a flick of the blade, the cord that bound Olga’s wrists to the pole was severed.
“On your belly,” he told her.
Olga complied, but it didn’t suit Javier.
“Over there,” he said, “so El Rubio can see.”
She slid on hands and knees to the other side of the pole and then lay flat on her stomach, just beyond the reach of Patrick’s feet.
Javier knelt beside her, away from Patrick, so that Olga lay between the two men. Then he placed his left hand flat on her back, palm down and fingers outstretched. The knife was in his right hand.
“Remember this, El Rubio?”
Patrick swallowed hard. Of course he remembered Javier’s insane display of machismo on Day 1 in the mountains—his hand on the stump and the rapid tap-tap-tap of the tip of the blade between his fingers.
“I told you: I don’t know the code,” said Patrick.
“If I do this just right, it should feel like a pinprick,” Javier said. He placed the tip between his thumb and index finger.
Olga flinched, as if jabbed by a needle.
“Perfect.” He moved the tip to the space between the index and middle finger, then between the middle and ring finger. Up and down once more between the ring and pinkie finger.
Crimson dots appeared on Olga’s shirt.
“Patrick, tell him nothing,” she said through clenched teeth.
Javier started again, a jab between the thumb and index finger, the blade moving with increasing speed over his knuckles to the next open space. “One, two, three, four,” he said with each precise poke at her back.
Watching was painful, but Patrick couldn’t tear his eyes away. The tiny dots, too numerous to count, were merging into one crimson stain. Tears rolled down Olga’s face.
“One, two, three, four.” Jab, jab, jab, jab.
“Enough!” said Patrick.
The shiny blade moved from one position to the next, faster and faster.
“Tell me the code,” said Javier.
“Tell him nothing,” said Olga.
Up and down the blade moved, from one gap to the next, with the speed and precision of a sewing machine. The knife was a blur, the sharp tip a veritable death by a thousand cuts on steroids—until Olga’s scream filled the cabin.
Blood bubbled up through the slit in her shirt, as Javier pulled the red tip of the knife from the flesh wound. The scars Patrick had felt across her back while dancing with Olga were no longer a mystery.
“That one was just a scratch,” said Javier, and then he raised the knife high above Olga’s spine. “On the count of three, the tip of this blade goes through the spine and touches the floor.”
“Don’t tell him!” said Olga.
Javier began his countdown. “One.”
“I swear, I don’t know the code!” said Patrick.
“Two.”
“He’ll stab me anyway!” said Olga.
“And—”
“Okay!” shouted Patrick.
“Okay what?” asked Javier.
Patrick looked at Olga, who was speaking only with her eyes, begging him not to do it. The fact that he might be breaking the law by revealing Buck’s secrets was the furthest thing from his mind. Javier had left him no choice.
“I’ll tell you what to ask for! You’ll get the code!”
Javier lowered his knife. “Wise decision,” he said.
Chapter 44
Kate spent Sunday evening at home. A quiet evening on the roof of her apartment building by the firepit, glass of wine in hand, the moonlight glistening on the river in the distance, would have been nice. Instead, it was her, Noah, and Special Agent Corey Lang of the Hostage Recovery Fusion Cell seated around her dining room table. Kate was in training.
“Rule number one is to be an active listener,” said Lang. “The kidnapper can’t see you. For all he knows, you’re checking text messages while he’s talking. An active listener uses verbal cues to let the caller know she’s listening.”
There were more rules, and Kate listened carefully, though at times she wondered if she was talking to an expert in hostage negotiation or a marriage counselor. By rule number four, she decided it was time to pivot away from how to negotiate with a kidnapper and focus on closing the deal on her arrangement with Noah.
“Where do we stand on getting me the clearance I need?” asked Kate.
Noah and the special agent exchanged glances, as if they’d been hoping that Kate would get so caught up in Hostage Recovery 101 that she wouldn’t raise the subject.
“You’ll have limited clearance,” said Noah.
“Limited,” said Kate, repeating the word, not so subtly demonstrating her newly acquired “active listening” skills. “Like limited visibility. Limited bandwidth. Limited warranties. Never a good thing.”
“There’s no need for you to have full clearance to the most sensitive program in the history of Buck Technologies,” said Noah.
“I can’t negotiate with the kidnapper if I have no idea what code he’s talking about.”
“Actually, you can,” said Noah.
“How?”
Noah pitched it back to the special agent.
“You won’t ever be on the phone with the kidnapper without me also on the line,” said Lang.
“That will get Patrick killed. The kidnapper said no law enforcement.”
“He won’t know there’s an FBI agent on the line. You’ll do the talking. But when we get into the nitty-gritty of the code, I’ll feed you the lines in real time.”
“So you want me to pretend like I know what I’m talking about. Is that it?”
“When it comes to Buck’s code, you say exactly what I tell you to say. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“What if you’re not on the call?”
“I’ll be on the call. If not me, my stand-in will. Your phone will be monitored twenty-four/seven. Answer on the fourth ring. That’s all the time we need.”
“How will you feed me the lines?”
Lang opened her laptop. “If we’re in the same room, like we are now, I’ll type them for you in real time.”
“What if there’s no set time for the kidnapper’s call? My phone might ring at three o’clock in the morning.”
“Good question. Typing won’t work if we’re not in the same place at the same time. You’ll have a new set of earbuds. In the right ear you’ll hear the kidnapper. In the left, you’ll hear me. I’ll be like the producer talking into the earpiece of the morning show host. We’ll need to practice, but you’ll get it.”
“What if I don’t hear you? Or if you and the kidnapper are talking at the same time? Or if I just don’t understand what you’re saying?”
“I’m going to give you three or four stall lines you can say to the kidnapper. When I hear one of those lines, that will be my clue that you need me to repeat.”
“This seems cumbersome,” said Kate. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to give me full clearance?”
The agent looked at Noah, then back. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Kate. But I’m starting to wonder what’s more important to you: getting the hostage released, or getting clearance to Buck’s technology?”
“Is there a right way for me to take that?” asked Kate.
Kate’s cellphone vibrated on the dining room table. “It’s him,” she said.
The tech crew had already linked Kate’s phone to the FBI. Lang positioned the laptop so that Kate could read her screen.
On the fourth ring, she typed. She could have said it aloud, but she was conditioning Kate to watch the screen. Kate took a breath, let it out, and then answered.
“This is Kate.”
“Who’s with you?” the caller asked. It was the same voice.
“No one,” said Kate, before the real negotiator needed to type it.
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I’m a truthful person,” she said, a bit too quickly to suit the FBI. Agent Lang signaled her to slow down the pace.
“Then tell me the truth, Kate: Am I negotiating with the right person?”
The question was a bit open-ended, but Kate sensed where he was going with it. Agent Lang was typing furiously, and a quick glance at her computer screen confirmed Kate’s hunch:
Don’t let him use you to get to your father.
Kate rolled with it. “I can tell you this much. I will do the best I can to get you whatever it is you want.”
