Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,20
apart. Girl’s not here.”
“This cult isn’t big on hiding the bodies. She could be laying low somewhere.”
“My feelings exactly.”
Talon studied the apartment, his eyes roaming. Who was Becky Oakes? Who were her friends? What would be her options, given what they knew about her?
“Any theories as to where she might be holed up?”
“My assistant is going through Ms. Oakes’ phone records as we speak.”
Once again Talon didn’t know if he should be impressed or worried about Casca’s ability to attain private information.
“Besides her boyfriend and parents, the one phone number that keeps coming up belongs to Janice Goldstein. They both interned at Google a few months ago. Judging from her social network activity, they’re best friends. Last call between them was two days ago.”
The day Michelle was murdered, Talon thought. If there had been any doubt about Becky’s involvement, this seemed to erase it. It was all beginning to make sense in his mind. In the wake of Michelle’s murder Becky had gone off the grid, ditching her phone and avoiding all social networks. That was wise — the people after her were computer wizards and could track her digital footprints.
Janice Goldstein was Talon’s best lead. With any luck she could lead him to Becky.
An hour later, he was staking out Janice’s workplace, some new app developer called Snapshut with offices on Freemont Street. Like Becky, Janice had recently graduated from intern to assistant. Most likely, she’d be working crazy hours. Talon knew he’d better brace himself for a long night.
He found a coffee shop facing the Snapshut offices and sipped on a cup of bitter black brew that set him back four bucks. The price made him cringe – what was happening to this country?
Keeping track of the steady flow of people on the sidewalks had a soothing, almost hypnotic effect on Talon. His new detail couldn’t have been more different from the arid monotony of Afghanistan.
As he kept watch, a Google bus pulled up to the curb and dropped off a boatload of Silicon Valley workers. They carried themselves in a casual and carefree manner, dressed like eternal teenagers with fat allowances. Distressed jeans, expensive sneakers and grungy t-shirts that all came with designer labels easily spotted by the knowing eye. Every one of them sported backpacks containing tablets or laptops.
Talon figured they’d been putting in some quality time in front of their computers during their air-conditioned commute. He’d read about the private shuttles that scooped up workers from their San Francisco neighborhoods and brought them to their Silicon Valley tech enclaves. Late at night the buses would return and so would the workers.
The tech elite had become shadows who barely participated in their local communities. The big companies provided food, haircuts, dental appointments, gym equipment, laundry, dry cleaning – there was no need to shop or interact locally. In many ways, companies like Omicron had already become cults that indoctrinated their disciples with an ideology designed to separate them both physically and psychologically from the rest of the world. Technology was their God and material success their salvation.
Janice suddenly emerged from her workplace. She headed straight for the coffee shop – just another part of her daily routine. A quick pick-me-up at the end of a long day. Phone cradled under her ear, she approached the barista.
Talon stealthily pointed his cell at her. He pulled up an app Casca had told him to download earlier and scanned the shop for Bluetooth signals. He selected Janice’s phone from the list and pressed “Force-Pair.” Once that was done, he pushed a button labeled “Install.Exe.” A bar filled the screen as his phone hacked into Janice’s.
By the time Janice grabbed her drink and left the café, the installation of the hacking program was complete. Talon followed while he listened in on Janice’s conversation. Her voice sounded concerned. Talon felt like a creep for spying on the woman’s private exchange.
When Janice addressed the other party on the line as Becky, however, Talon’s eyes widened with triumph. Judging from the phone number on his spy app, Becky wasn’t using her old cell. She had probably purchased a disposable phone with a prepaid SIM card. Smart girl. It sounded like she wanted to meet up with Janice at nearby Yerba Buena Garden.
Talon rushed toward his motorcycle. He would beat Janice to the rendezvous point.
Darkness encroached Yerba Buena Garden as his bike sidled up to the curb. The park covered two blocks with well-tended gardens and provided a much-needed escape from the hustle and