After digging through Frank's coat pocket, I found his cell phone. There wasn't much of his face left, and facial recognition was of no use. Presented with a security screen, I started punching in random six-digit passcodes, starting with the most common combinations. I found his wallet in his pocket and used his date of birth from his driver's license in various permutations. That finally gave me access to the device.
After scrolling through his recent texts, I came across the clip that Paris’s kidnappers had sent him. It was a long shot, but I texted them back: [Let the reporter go. Everything's been taken care of.]
There was no response.
I hoped they hadn't already killed her.
I sent the video clip to Isabella to analyze, along with their cell number to track.
She called me back a few minutes later. “That clip was sent by a burner phone from a warehouse on Commerce Street.”
I called the sheriff and had him send patrol units.
By the time Daniels arrived at Spice Key, there was an inch of snow on the ground, with plenty more on the way.
He told me, “I sent Rawlings and Dempsey to check out the abandoned warehouse. There was nobody there, and no sign of anything.”
I took that to mean no obvious fresh blood. Perhaps Paris was still alive. I tried calling her cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail. That sense of dread knotted my stomach.
Brenda and her crew examined the remains, and Dietrich snapped photos.
By the time we wrapped up on the island, the satellites had de-orbited and were beginning to reenter the atmosphere. They streaked across the stratosphere, burning up on reentry, providing the most wondrous light show. All across the night sky, the satellites blazed with fury, leaving long glowing tales of fire. What a sight to see.
57
It was almost morning by the time we returned to the station. We filled out after-action reports. Casey and Ethan gave statements. I may have forgotten to mention the part where Frank transferred $1 billion to the kid’s crypto wallet. Everybody else forgot, too.
I asked Ethan what he was going to do with the money.
"Something good," he said. "I'm thinking a decentralized, open-source accountability project. An advanced system that monitors and roots out corruption, exposes backdoor deals, seeks the truth. Maximum accountability.”
I smiled. "Sounds like you're on the right track."
I arranged for deputies to take Casey and Ethan back home. They were safe now, at least until they exposed the corruption of another megacorporation or government agency.
My phone buzzed with a call from Paris.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Oh. My. God! You are not going to believe what just happened to me.”
I breathed a relieved breath upon hearing her voice. “I can believe it. We’ve been trying to find you. Where are you?”
"These jackasses dropped me off in Jamaica Village with a bag over my head and my wrists tied. I thought they were going to kill me. I managed to get the bag off my head. But let me tell you, that's not a place I want to be after dark. I'm scared out of my mind, hustling through the streets, when I get surrounded by these guys. You can imagine what's going through my brain. One of them pulls out a knife, and I'm thinking, great. This is it. This is how I’m gonna go out—violated and abused, then stabbed to death. Then one of them says,Hey, you’re that chick on TV. I say, yes. I'm doing a story. I'm trying to see if anyone will help me. Do you think you could untie me? They all looked around and said,I don't see no cameras. The cameras are hidden, I said. To my shock and great relief, they cut me loose. I'm in a Zoomber heading back to my apartment right now.”
Zoomber was a popular ridesharing app.
"Thank God you're okay," I said.
"Can you identify the guys that grabbed you?"
"No. They all wore masks.”
"Did you see any identifiable marks or tattoos?”
“No.”
"When you feel like it, come down to the station and make a report."
