He kept watching them as their golf cart passed by the vintage air exhibit and came to a halt next to the now-deserted outdoor movie theater in the woods.
An odd destination.
As Trent had learned in the past day, nothing went on there until after sunset. His instincts tingling, Trent tapped his earpiece and said, “Max, meet me in the woods by the vintage aircraft hangar ASAP.”
Max’s reply was drowned out by the loudspeaker, which was fixed to the tree above Trent’s head.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention to the south side of the runway as the Blonde Bombshell, Karen Becker, begins her takeoff roll!”
Renee sat in the living room of the safe house. Jennifer Upton was on the couch. She had the TV on and was watching bad reality TV. Renee had given her a questioning look, and the woman had actually hissed at her. There was something off about Jennifer Upton.
Renee had been sitting feet away from Upton while researching her testimony on the computer.
“Why can’t I have my phone back?”
“It wouldn’t be safe,” answered the CIA kid from the kitchen. Upton rolled her eyes and heaved a hearty sigh like a teenage girl angry at her father’s rules.
Renee had just connected with one of her hacker friends on an encrypted chat. He was helping her get access to the previous locations of Dahlman, Dicks, Becker, and Upton. They accessed the cell phone GPS coordinate archives of each person and overlaid that information with any known locations where Ian Williams or Abdul Syed had been stationed and associated dates.
Information about Williams and Syed was scarce. And what little they did have turned out to be a dead end.
But after about fifteen minutes, Renee saw a definite trend. When she looked at the four Americans’ information and took the timestamps back three years, they were in the same location at the same time each year.
Oshkosh.
All four of them at Oshkosh?
They must have been together, which was not consistent with the story Jennifer Upton had just told them. She’d said she hadn’t seen Ron Dicks in years, for one.
Renee thanked her hacker friend and signed out of the chat room. She glanced at Jennifer Upton to make sure she wasn’t watching her. Upton was still busy messing around with her watch, only half-paying attention to the trashy TV show about whiny brides and wedding dresses.
Renee locked her computer and went into the kitchen, where the CIA operative was watching the security monitors.
“Anything going on?” Renee whispered.
“Nothing,” the young man said.
She kept her voice very quiet. “I need access to her phone.”
He nodded and opened up the safe under the kitchen counter. He removed Upton’s cell phone and handed it to Renee. “You need a cable?”
“Won’t be a problem.”
Renee powered up the device and slid it into her pocket. Thankfully it wasn’t an iPhone. Those were harder to crack. Sitting on the couch across from Jennifer Upton, Renee used her computer’s near field communication and some special software to access the phone. She then searched through pictures, text messages, and any other data from the time period that overlapped each annual Oshkosh visit.
There wasn’t much. It was almost like Upton was purposely not communicating or taking pictures during those time periods. The fact that all three of them were together at Oshkosh meant something. But now that Renee had that morsel of a clue, she was determined to find the missing puzzle piece.
She looked up again. Upton was looking at the TV.
Renee looked at the map on her screen again. The one with the overlay of locations. She frowned. It wasn’t exactly at Oshkosh, was it? No. It was southeast. Near the water. Renee decided to try something else. She dug into Upton’s cloud storage accounts. Sometimes they synced up photos without people realizing it, keeping images that were thought to have been deleted.
Nothing. Upton wasn’t a big social media person. Neither was the senator, which made sense.
Renee typed to her hacker friend again. With his help, Renee was able to search through hundreds of thousands of images stored online with GPS stamps near the same time and location she was interested in. They put the images through facial recognition software and came up with several hits. One of the photos was particularly interesting. There was water on the lower half of the image. It might have been taken from a boat or across a small inlet, but the resolution was good. Renee was able to zoom in on a gazebo where a group of people were having some type of gathering. The photo was dated three years ago, and the GPS tag was within five miles of Oshkosh.
In the image, Senator Becker was standing next to Jennifer Upton and Ron Dicks. They were outdoors, drinks in hand, smiling. They seemed to be unaware the picture was being taken.
Ian Williams was in the background, on a cell phone.
They were all together at Oshkosh.
Becker, Upton, Dicks, and Ian Williams. Only three years ago. What did this mean? She needed to tell Max.
Renee got up from the couch and walked into one of the spare bedrooms, closing the door and locking it behind her. Damn the security procedures, she had to call Max. She dialed his phone, but it just went straight to his voicemail.
Renee left him a voicemail anyway.
Short and to the point. Hopefully he would get it soon.
Then she walked into the living room and sat back down on the couch. Renee looked back up at Upton, who was still playing with her watch…
But it wasn’t just a watch, Renee realized.
It was a smart watch.
A connected device.
They had confiscated her phone but didn’t notice the watch. The design hadn’t looked like a typical smart watch. They had glossed right over it.
She was communicating.
Jennifer Upton glanced up at Renee, and their eyes met.
Renee’s heart pounded in her chest. She could feel herself breathing.
Renee turned at the sounds of the CIA man swearing from the kitchen. Then she heard the sound of vehicles arriving out front. Tires grinding to a halt on the gravel driveway.
Renee shut her computer and ran into the kitchen. The CIA man had his gun drawn.
On the security monitors, Renee saw several SUVs parked outside. Men wearing masks and holding assault rifles approached the home.
Chapter 27
The same announcer broadcasting over the air show speaker system was on frequency with Karen as she began racing down the runway.
“Can you hear us, Karen?”
“I read you loud and clear! Good afternoon, Oshkosh!”
The crowd cheered and hollered as Karen gained speed, pulled back on her stick, and shot straight up into the air.
Karen’s heart was beating fast. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. This was her Super Bowl. Nothing compared to performing at Oshkosh. It was her time to shine in front of hundreds of thousands of screaming fans. To leave behind the angst she felt about her father’s mistakes and her own insecurities. Up here, she was alive and in her element, doing what she was meant to do.
She went through her routine with expert precision. She got on altitude and airspeed, checked her instruments, ran through her silent checklist, then jammed the stick hard left, cut the throttle and pulled through her dive upside down and gaining speed, the ground coming closer and closer, the spectators’ mouths opening as they clicked pictures. Then she came to the bottom of her dive, airspeed rocketing upward, the g’s hitting her body, flexing her legs and grunting and pulling in a bit more backstick, then slamming down one pedal and putting her aircraft into a sideslip, practically hovering over the ground at an impossible angle.