I head back to the office. We’re silent as we take the elevator. I appreciate that Dad doesn’t feel the compulsion to tell me it’s okay. He’s realistic. We don’t know if it’s okay. We may already be too late.
I’m trying very hard not to think too hard. Not to let my imagination go awry with one horror or another. I’m stuck in a loop of ‘able-bodied and relatively fit’ people, more men than women. That’s the best hint we have at the moment. Once a month, except this month, they’re looking for a second delivery.
What does that mean?
Jessica is right where I left her. She’s staring hard at the screen, though it doesn’t seem to be moving.
“What did you find?” I ask.
She jumps when I speak and spins to look at me. “Come here,” she demands and rewinds the feed. All dozen camera angles spin backwards and then pause when she hits the button.
We watch as she shifts between cameras, clicking the ones she wants, following the progress of the car with Brek. It pulls into the parking lot, stops to get fuel. We get a good look at the man as he pumps gas, confirming it’s the man we have in holding.
Then, he drives his car around the back of the truck stop and parks. Jessica rewinds another thirty seconds and changes feedsto find the truck that pulls in. She follows its progress until it backs in beside the car.
It’s a Quick Ride truck, just as suspected. I caught a glimpse of the red dot, too. It looks like it might be a magnet. Not something that’s there all the time. It’s cleaner than the rest of the truck, clearly breaking up the dirt caked on the back.
I take note of the license plate and then freeze frame as the man steps out to grab a screenshot of his face. I let the feed go from there.
Honestly, you can’t see much. Not with the way the truck is angled and where the camera is. We can see the back door of the car open shortly after the back hatch of the trailer. The trailer is angled away from all the cameras, pointing toward the trees.
“When we uncover this, I’m exposing this fucking truck stop for negligence in covering all angles. For a year, it’s been used to traffic people,” I mutter.
No one answers me as we continue to watch. Jessica pauses when the two drivers pull Brek from the back of the car. It’s not a clear view, and I suppose with reasonable doubt, we can’t prove that’s Brek.
Whatisclear is that the man is unconscious. The two carry him to the back of the truck.
“Ballsy,” Jessica says. “Broad daylight. No one seems to notice.”
“They’ve grown confident,” Dad says.
Jessica hits the spacebar, and the feed continues. We watch in silence while they do whatever they’re doing out of camera view. Then the car driver crawls into the back of his car and comes back out, shutting the door. He walks toward the trees and veryobviously throws something. Brek’s phone. We can’t see that’s definitely what it is, but that’s where we found his phone.
Nothing interesting happens after that. The car leaves. Jessica tracks the truck driver through the truck stop—bathroom break, food, refuel, and then drives away.
“Now what?” Jessica asks. “What did the driver say?”
“Up,” I tell her, tugging at the shoulder of her shirt until she’s out of my swing so I can retake my seat. I tap quickly on the screens she’s been using until I can grab a bunch of different face shots of the truck driver.
“He didn’t tell us much useful information,” Dad says when I don’t answer her. “Some key details that we think are important, but until we understand what we’re looking at, we’re not sure how they matter.”
“Are we calling the police?”
“No,” my dad and I say at the same time.
“Trust me when I tell you, we’ll figure this out far quicker than the police,” Dad says.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because we’re going to break every law necessary until we find Brek. We’ve also taken his disappearance seriously, where they will need to wait for a minimum of twenty-four hours or some shit. He’s an adult, after all. He isn’t required to answer his phone.”
Jessica scowls. “What are you doing now, Voss? What can I do?”
I shake my head. “I’m running recognition software to identify the driver and running plate scans to find out what I can aboutthe truck itself. I’m going to attempt to track down his phone and follow his GPS like I did Brek’s.”
“What can I do?” she repeats.
“Nothing right now. A lot of what I do is wait for the computers to give me the information I need.” I stare at the spinning circle on both sites with a frown. “I’ve never understood how frustrating it is to wait until I’m the one waiting,” I mutter.
