“They do. But it’s controlled by Wi-Fi, and one of our friends has already hacked it. We’ll be able to get in. We just don’t know what they have on the inside.”
With that, we exit the vehicle and enter the carport. I’m creeped out by the shadows and the dogs watching us silently from behind the backyard fence, but we ignore them and walk straight to the side door. Charlie points at a camera above the door, and he makes a slashing sound at his throat, meaning it’s dead.
He points to another camera in the window, and its light is red.
“Wi-Fi?” I ask.
He nods, sending off a quick message. By the time he gets the door unlocked, the red light on that camera is also out.
We walk in through the cluttered kitchen and scan the equally cluttered front of the house. The living room and dining area are on the left side of the house, and the living quarters are on the right. The dining area is more of an office, with multiple desks and monitors, like a command center.
I check with Charlie, and the set of his jaw tells me we’re thinking the same thing. He pulls out his phone again, gesturing for me to do the same.
Charlie:Take pictures of everything.
I send him a thumbs-up, and we split, him on one side of the room, me on the other. The first desk is fairly clean, save for a notebook filled with some kind of code—a series of letters and numbers that don’t make much sense. I flip through the notebook, taking pictures of any pages with writing. There’s definitely a pattern, but now is not the time to try and decipher it.
I move the mouse, grateful Charlie brought gloves for me.
The screen comes up and is password-protected. These are older computers, so I hit the enter button to see if they actually used a password, which they did. Not going to try and crack it myself, so I move on to the next desk. This is just as clean as the other, again with a notebook that contains the mysterious pattern of letters and numbers. I take pictures of all those as well.
To the side of that desk are a printer and a wastebasket. Nothing’s in the printer drawer, but a few crumpled pieces of paper are in the basket. I grab them and flatten them on the desk, taking pictures of everything before recrumpling them and tossing them back in the basket. I’m pretty much done, but jiggle the mouse on this computer as well, just in case. Another lock screen. I hit enter, not expecting anything and…shit.
“That actually worked,” I say, probably a little too loudly.
Charlie turns toward me, questions in his eyes.
I point at the monitor and shrug. His eyes are wide, and he sits in front of it, pulling up document after document. At some point, he pulls up a spreadsheet, and red splotches appear on his cheeks.
He points out a Minneapolis address at the top of the screen. Damn, Nacho was right. They are connected to the earlier rescue mission.
Charlie then points to the bottom of the screen, noting all the tabs. They disappear to the right, and as he clicks over, there are at least two dozen.
“None of these computers are connected—no Wi-Fi signals, no ethernet cables, nothing.”
Cursing, he pulls out his phone and connects it to the computer with a USB cord. He pulls up an app on his phone, types in a code, and it connects to the computer, pulling up a finder window for the phone.
Working quickly, he highlights and drags all the documents he can into the folder. We wait as the bar across the screen slowly creeps over.
“Sit here. I’m going to check the rest of the rooms.”
It’s a little nerve-racking, being left alone in a room while breaking and entering to possibly stop a human-trafficking ring, but I do as asked, my eyes never leaving the screen.
A few moments into watching the bar creep across the screen, I sense the presence of something else in the room.
Chills crawl across my skin as I slowly spin in the chair. One of the property’s enormous German Shepherds has crept up and is staring me down. He’s so tall that he and I are face to face. Letting out a low, quiet growl, he bares his teeth.
“Shit,” I whisper under my breath.
“Brother? Something wrong?”
My brother’s voice in my ear startles me, but I lock it down because I don’t want to give this dog a reason to attack.
“The biggest fucking German Shepherd I’ve ever seen in my life is standing right in front of me.”
Nacho’s voice comes over the line, smooth and oddly comforting. “Just act bossy with him. Works for me.”
I ignore the muffled snickers across the line and sit up straight.
