“Where? Byron?”
“No, Chicago. You said you were a cop there and you left. What did you see there that made you wanna leave?”
Nate scoffed. “How long do you have?”
She glanced around. “I’m a captive audience.”
“As my mother always said, ‘Be careful what you ask for.’ To be honest, looking back, I can see now my life’s been guided by a series of terrible events. My sister Marie’s disappearance”—and likely her death, he thought, but didn’t bother saying—“was probably the first. And I suppose the cyber-attack on the country’s power grid and the meltdowns of local nuclear power plants are only the latest in a long chain of bad mojo. But they aren’t the only ones. You might say those are the bookends, sandwiching other things that helped to make me into the person seated before you.
“After I got my degree in computer sciences and cyber-security, I realized I wasn’t built to spend my life strapped to a desk. It became part of the reason why I joined the Chicago PD. But the longer I’ve stared into life’s rearview mirror, the more I’ve begun to realize the real reason I signed up. That part of me that hoped Marie was alive never wanted to give up looking for her. Being a cop would provide me with the investigative tools and opportunity to do just that. But tempering my optimism, there was also a more realistic side, one that knew my sister was probably long dead and wanted to do everything in my power to prevent anything like this from happening to someone else’s sister, someone else’s mother, someone else’s daughter. I was still a beat cop, don’t forget, not a detective. And it meant that by day I’d make my rounds through some of Chicago’s nastier neighborhoods. Then afterward, I would scan through cold cases, missing persons and a half-dozen other resources.”
“Looking for Marie?” Dakota asked, the soft light of the fire twinkling in her eyes.
Nate tilted his head to one side in an expression of uncertainty. “Back then, I’m not sure I fully understood what I was looking for. It wasn’t like I was expecting for her picture to pop up. After it happened, the police had done everything they could. It had even been on the national news. And yet, soon enough, Marie had become a statistic, one of thousands every year who simply slipped through the cracks. My biggest fear was that she’d been kidnapped and forced into some kind of child prostitution ring.”
The suggestion made Dakota’s face squish up.
“It was a terrible thing to contemplate, I know, but that’s where I was back then. Once her case had gone cold, I started using my tech background to scour the dark web.”
“Dark web?”
“Let’s just say it’s the nastiest neighborhood you’ve ever heard of, except it only exists online. That’s where people go to buy things so illegal they can’t be mentioned in polite society. It wasn’t long before I found a site auctioning off young girls. People would sign in and bid on kids as young as eleven and as old as sixteen. There was this one particular handle I saw every night. Untouchable_JJE. Like clockwork, Untouchable would come on at ten P.M., throw out a series of high bids and then sign off. Boom, boom, boom. Real fast, like they knew what they were after and didn’t want to waste any time getting it. Once in the chat room between auctions, they described their preference for fourteen-year-olds with long, straight, dark hair and pale skin. Boasted that he’d been with many just like that. I pulled in a ton of favors getting access to the software that could put a name to Untouchable_JJE. Took nearly a week, but eventually a name popped up.”
Dakota was sitting forward, her elbows perched on the tops of her knees.
“Terrance J. Eldridge,” Nate said, as though that would mean something to her.
“He sounds old. Who was he?”
Nate crossed his arms. “Only the District Attorney for Cook County, Illinois, which I don’t need to tell you includes the city of Chicago.”
Dakota’s mouth hung open. “No way.”
Nate was nodding. “Way. Trust me, I was so dumbfounded I couldn’t feel my legs. And even more so when I figured out what JJE stood for. Judge, jury and executioner.”
“Did you tell your boss?”
“The chief of police?” Nate asked. “Sure, least I tried to. But he didn’t wanna hear anything about it. Turns out neither did anyone else.”
“How’s that possible?” Now Dakota’s shock was turning to anger.
Shaking his head, Nate said: “You take a shot at a man that powerful and you better make sure it takes him out. Otherwise they’ll drag you through so much mud you’ll start thinking you’re a worm.”
“So you’re saying they did nothing about it?”
“Well, not exactly nothing,” Nate said. “It was a lot easier to make my life hell—send me to patrol the worst areas, wear me down—than it was to challenge someone near the top. Turns out old Terrance was right. He was untouchable. After that whole mess I’d had more than enough. Decided maybe riding a desk wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”
A sound just outside the barn startled them. The H&K G36 assault rifle was leaning against the wall next to Nate. He grabbed it, aiming the barrel at the barn’s entrance. Dakota drew her pistol, holding it out with both hands.
A second later a head pushed its way into the narrow opening, widening it with a flick of its muscular neck before stepping inside. It stopped and stared back at them.
“Shadow!” Dakota shouted, elated and maybe even a little relieved.
“You nearly got your head blown off, buddy.”
The wolf shook a coating of snow from his fur and headed straight for Dakota, nuzzling her. She laughed, running her hands over his head and back. “Eww, you’re all wet.”
Nate smiled and was surprised when the wolf came over to him, the end of his black, glistening nose sampling the air between them.
Nate held out a hand. Shadow shuffled away, staring back from the corner of his eye. A moment later, the wolf returned and licked his fingers.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you, buddy?” Nate asked him. Then to Dakota: “Any more of those ravioli left?”
She produced a can and opened it. Nate held it in place while Shadow went to town. “Looks like we got ourselves another Chef Boyardee fan.”
Dakota giggled and for the briefest of moments, both of them forgot about the cold and the death and the suffering around them.
Chapter 5
Day 7
Chicago O’Hare International Airport
The following morning, Holly, Dillon and a handful of others made their way down the long, darkened corridor that connected Concourses B and C of Terminal One. To their right was the moving sidewalk, or at least one that had once been moving.
They made their way via the light from Sandra Pierson’s cellphone. She was a young sales executive from a siding company. She had just been hired as the regional sales manager. Still dressed in a grey skirt and white blouse, she might have looked like the typical corporate creature were it not for the dark stains on her shirt and the ratty state of her hair.
After a week fending for themselves, awaiting rescue from the outside world, each of them looked like they’d been through the wringer. All except for Johnny Tang, that was, who still looked fresh. He was an Asian-American banking executive on his way to Hong Kong for an important meeting. Over six feet tall with a muscular build and a set of impossibly white teeth, Johnny still wore a Westmancott suit that looked about as pressed as the man’s slicked-back hair.
Others had joined them as well, including a family of four from California―the Johnsons―on their way to New York City.