Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,19
death didn’t catch up with her in some far-flung, war-ravaged or disease-ridden Third World country. It found her here in San Francisco, in her own home.
Casca leaned closer, his voice growing determined. “We find Michelle’s source, we find her killers.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“WE FIND MICHELLE’S source, we find her killers.”
Good plan but where to start? As Talon mentally ran through his options, he remembered the Skype conversation he’d interrupted when he first arrived at the Chronicle. What had Michelle said again?
“Just one of my sources.”
Could that woman be the source Casca was talking about? Talon recalled her nervous expression. At the time, he’d dismissed it as just run-of-the-mill camera shyness – not everyone felt comfortable in front of a webcam – but now he wasn’t so sure. It was a long shot, but worth looking into.
He rang the Chronicle and asked Powell to run a quick check of Michelle’s Skype calls. She’d used her desktop during the Skype call, so it should be easy to track her conversations. A few minutes later, Powell offered up a name – Becky Oakes – and a phone number.
Talon considered his next move. Calling Becky might spook her. If indeed Becky turned out to be the leak, he’d have to tread with caution. In all likelihood the cult had gone after her too. There hadn’t been any reports of other murders, though. Maybe she’d gotten lucky and escaped.
Casca had urged Talon to contact him if he needed anything. Talon wasn’t keen on further involving the billionaire, but he did have the pull to gain access to classified information.
Talon texted Becky’s info to Casca. Less than an hour later, Talon received an email containing the results of a detailed background check.
Twenty-three years old, Becky was an attractive brunette with big, intelligent eyes and perfect skin. Computer-science major. She’d been an assistant at Omicron, one of Silicon Valley’s biggest tech companies, for the last eight months. Omicron was giving the top dogs a run for their money with a line of tablets and phones that were gaining in popularity on a daily basis.
Talon skimmed the rest of the detailed report. There were credit card histories, outstanding student loans and even notes regarding Becky’s recent emails and phone calls.
For a surreal moment, Talon could almost pretend he was conducting some military operation instead of embarking on a vigilante mission of vengeance.
Analyzing the report further, Talon learned that Becky lived in the Mission District. As an assistant, she wouldn’t be raking in the big bucks. So how was she able to afford the $3000-a-month rent of a one-bedroom apartment in that area?
The next paragraph of the report provided an explanation. Becky had been dating George Soldes, a computer engineer at Omicron and one of the suspected cult members who jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. Had the suicide motivated Becky to seek out the press, dooming Michelle in the process?
Only Becky could answer that question.
Talon mounted Erik’s motorcycle and tore off toward the Mission District. Zipping through the hilly streets, his thoughts turned to the enigmatic new figure who had entered the picture. Who was Simon Casca? Talon still wasn’t quite sure what to make of the youthful billionaire. He was intense yet projected sincerity and a nearly fanatical passion about his esoteric field of expertise.
Casca seemed determined to help. Still, without fully understanding whatever motivation was driving his newfound benefactor, Talon would keep his guard up. He planned to delve deeper into Casca’s background later but at the moment his first priority was tracking down Becky Oakes.
Traffic was light during the mid-afternoon hours and it didn’t take long for Talon to arrive at Becky’s apartment complex. He waited in front of the main entrance. As soon as the first person stepped out of the building, he used the opportunity to slip through the open door. If Becky was around, he hoped to catch her off guard and not give her a chance to cook up some cover story.
Becky lived on the third floor and Talon easily located her apartment. He determined that the door was unlocked – it didn’t bode well. Glock in hand, he walked into the unit.
Broken furniture, overturned shelves and piles of computer books lay scattered on the floor. There was no sign of Becky. Did she escape in time, or was she now in the cult’s clutches?
His cellphone vibrated and Casca’s voice grew audible on his headset. “What’s the situation?”
“Looks like we’re running a few steps behind. They broke into her place and tore it