Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Evolution - Brian Freeman Page 0,62
lawyer in the Village last night?” Jason asked.
“Carson Gattor. Yes, Restak orchestrated that.”
“Did he use Prescix to do that?” Abbey asked.
“He did, but that’s only one of his tools. You have a Prescix account, too, I see. Nine months ago, you bought a very expensive bottle of French perfume, which you couldn’t afford. You probably don’t even know why you bought it. In fact, you were part of a paid Prescix sponsorship that inserted that particular French perfume into your life at multiple touchpoints. It took twenty-three touchpoints and four days before you purchased the bottle. Don’t worry, most of the other buyers cracked more quickly than you did. The company sold seventeen thousand units that week, which is nine times their typical average U.S. weekly sales.”
Abbey stared at him, and her face flushed deep red.
“Let’s get back to the reason we’re here,” Jason interrupted. “Restak. What else did you find about him?”
“I told you, very little. Even where he leaves footprints, the identity leads to a dead end. Last night he was an anarchist sympathizer with the handle KillAllNazis. That profile is now inactive. I’m sure he won’t go back to it.”
“We need to locate him,” Jason said.
“That won’t be easy. As far as the world is concerned, Peter Restak has no real life. No credit cards, no bank records, no permanent address, not even a past address. He knows how hackers like me identify people, because he’s exactly like me. I doubt he stays in any one place for a long period of time.”
“There must be something,” Abbey interjected. “What about friends? Or a girlfriend? You people can’t spend every night playing Call of Duty and searching for mommy videos on Pornhub.”
The tech’s fish eyes drilled into her again. “Do you really want to antagonize me, Abbey Laurent? Does that seem like a good idea?”
“I want you to stop showing off and tell us what you found. Because we all know you found something. There’s no way you’re going to sit here and tell us that this Restak is a smarter hacker than you. You’ve got too much ego for that. So how do we find him?”
The tech’s nostrils flared with annoyance. “I don’t like her, Bourne.”
“That’s too bad, because I’m liking her more and more,” Jason replied. “Now answer her question. How do we find Restak?”
The young man sighed. “You won’t find him directly, like I told you. But he did make a mistake. It was a girlfriend. I found a few matching photos of him with a woman named Holly d’Angelo. He scrubbed their relationship online, so there’s nothing on social media, but he must have forgotten to check photo processing services. They showed up together in the background of several photos taken by other people that were uploaded to a photo-printing database for a national drugstore. I got them with facial recognition.”
Abbey shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
“Where do we find Holly d’Angelo?” Jason asked.
“She has a one-bedroom apartment in Flatbush, and she works at a medical clinic in the city. After her job most days, she works out at a women-only fitness studio on Twenty-Third. Then she takes the train home.”
“You have her picture?” Abbey asked.
The tech nodded. “I already sent it to your phone. I sent you the photos of Restak, too. Are we done?”
“We’re done,” Jason replied. “Thanks for the help.”
“Thank Scott, not me.” He slapped his laptop shut and gave Abbey another disgruntled stare from his cold eyes as he stood up. Abbey stuck out her tongue at him, which triggered an angry hiss from the tech.
As the man turned away, Jason grabbed his wrist in an iron grip.
“By the way,” Bourne said, “your name is Aaron Haberman. You have a condo on Thirty-Third Street in Kips Bay, and you have a cabin in the Finger Lakes that you like to visit on weekends. See, I make it a point of knowing about the people in Scott’s circle, Aaron. So if you have any ideas about messing with Abbey’s online life, then be aware that I will insert myself into your real life. And believe me when I tell you that is something you do not want.”
*
NASH Rollins stood on the Battery Park walkway and watched boats navigate the wavy waters of the Hudson River. It was a cool, breezy afternoon, with clouds moving fast overhead. On the far side of the channel, the Statue of Liberty lifted her torch like a salute. Rollins leaned on his cane, as stiff and unmoving as