“Well, are you on the task force? Are they letting you work the case?”
“For now, yes.”
“Okay, well, that’s good.”
“Yes.”
We made arrangements for me to meet the agent she would send for the phone outside the door of the globe lobby in a half hour. It was then time for both of us to go back to work.
“Hang in there, Rachel,” I said.
She was silent for a moment and then said, “You too, Jack.”
We hung up then. And somehow, with all that had transpired in the last thirty-six hours, with what had happened to Angela and my having just been threatened by a serial killer, a part of me felt happy and hopeful.
I had a feeling, though, that it wasn’t going to last.
SEVEN: The Farm
Carver intently watched the security screens. The two men at the front counter showed badges to Geneva. He couldn’t tell what law enforcement agency they were from. By the time he had zoomed in, the badges had already been put away.
He watched Geneva pick up the phone and punch in three numbers. He knew she would be calling McGinnis’s office. She spoke briefly, then hung up and signaled the two men with badges to one of the couches to wait.
Carver tried to keep his anxiety in check. The fight-or-flight impulse was firing in his brain as he reviewed his recent moves and tried to see where, if anywhere, he could have made a mistake. It was safe, he told himself. He was safe. The plan was good. Freddy Stone was the only issue of concern-the only aspect that could be considered a weak link-and Carver would have to take steps to make that potential problem go away.
On the screen he watched as Yolanda Chavez, McGinnis’s second in command, entered the reception lobby and shook hands with the two men. They quickly showed badges again but then one took a folded document from the inside pocket of his suit coat and presented it to her. She studied it for a moment and then handed it back. She signaled for the two men to follow her and they went through the door into the interior of the building. By switching security screens Carver was able to follow them to the administration suite.
He got up and closed the door to his office. Back at his desk, he picked up his phone and punched in the extension for reception.
“ Geneva, it’s Mr. Carver. I happen to be watching the cameras and am curious about those two men who just entered. I saw them show badges. Who are they?”
“They’re FBI agents.”
The words froze his heart but he held himself steady and remained calm. After a moment, Geneva continued.
“They said they have a search warrant. I didn’t see it but they showed it to Yolanda.”
“A search warrant for what?”
“I’m not sure, Mr. Carver.”
“Who did they ask to see?”
“No one. They just asked to see somebody in charge. I called Mr. McGinnis, and Yolanda came out to get them.”
“Okay, thank you, Geneva.”
He hung up the phone and refocused on his screen. He typed in a command that opened a new set of camera angles, a multiplex screen that showed the four private offices of the top administrators. These cameras were hidden in ceiling-mounted smoke detectors and the occupants of the offices knew nothing about them. The camera views came with audio feeds as well.
Carver saw the two FBI agents enter Declan McGinnis’s office. He clicked his mouse on that camera and the image filled the entire screen. It was an angled overhead view of the room from a convex lens. The agents sat down with their backs to the camera and Yolanda took a seat on the right. Carver had a full view of McGinnis when the company CEO sat back down after shaking hands with the agents. One was black and one was white. They identified themselves as Bantam and Richmond.
“So I am told you have a search warrant of some sort?” McGinnis asked.
“Yes, sir, we do,” Bantam said.
He pulled the document out of his suit again and passed it across the table.
“You are hosting a website called trunk murder dot com and we need to know every piece of information you have about it.”
McGinnis didn’t respond. He was reading the document. Carver reached up and ran his hands through his hair. He needed to know what was in that warrant and how close they were. He tried to calm down, reminding himself that he was prepared for this. He even expected this. He knew more about the FBI than the FBI knew about him. He could start right there.
He killed the feed and then the screen. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out the stack of monthly server volume reports his staff had prepared earlier in the week. Usually he filed them away until McGinnis asked for them and then he sent them up with one of his server engineers on his way out for a smoke. This time he would make the delivery himself. He tapped the stack on the desk and made the corners sharp, then he left and locked his office.
In the control room he told Mizzou and Kurt, the two engineers on duty, where he was going and then went out through the mantrap. Thankfully, Freddy Stone was not on shift until the evening, because he could never come back to Western Data. Carver knew how the FBI worked. They would take every name of every employee and run it through their computers. They would learn that Freddy Stone was not Freddy Stone and they would come back for him.
Carver wasn’t going to allow that. He had other plans for Freddy.
He took the elevator up and entered the administration suite with his head down, reading the top page of the stack of reports. He nonchalantly looked up as he came in and saw through the open door of McGinnis’s office that he had company. He pivoted and went to his secretary’s desk.
“Give these to Declan when he’s free,” he said. “But no hurry.”
He turned to leave the suite, hoping the motion of his pivot move had drawn the attention of McGinnis through the doorway. But he got all the way to the main door without being called.
He put his hand on the knob.
“Wesley?”
It was McGinnis, calling from his office. Carver turned around and glanced back. McGinnis was behind his desk, waving him into the office.
Carver entered. He nodded to the two men and completely ignored Chavez, whom he considered a worthless diversity hire. There was no place for Carver to sit but that was all right. Being the only one standing would give him a command presence.
“Wesley Carver, meet Agents Bantam and Richmond from the FBI’s Phoenix office. I was just about to call down to the bunker for you.”
Carver shook hands with the men and repeated his name politely each time.
“Wesley wears a number of hats around here,” McGinnis said. “He’s our chief technology officer and the one who designed most of this place. He’s also our chief threat officer. What I like to call our-”
“Do we have a problem?” Carver cut in.
“We may,” McGinnis said. “The agents have been telling me that we’re hosting a website here that is of interest to them and they’ve got a warrant that allows them to see all documentation and records pertaining to its setup and operation.”
“Terrorism?”
“They say they can’t tell us.”
“Should I go get Danny?”
“No, they don’t want to talk to anybody in design and hosting just yet.”
Carver put his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat because he knew it gave him the posture of a deep-thinking man. He then addressed the agents.
“Danny O’Connor is our chief of design and hosting,” he said. “He should be brought in on this. You’re not thinking he’s a terrorist or something, are you?”
He smiled at the absurdity of what he had just suggested. Agent Bantam, the larger of the two agents, responded.
“No, we’re not thinking that at all. We’re on a fishing expedition here, and the fewer people brought into it, the better. Especially from the hosting side of your business.”
Carver nodded and his eyes flicked momentarily in the direction of Chavez. But the agents didn’t pick up on it. She remained in the meeting.