He folded his arms and pursed his lips. Now there was an idea. He couldn’t execute it himself — not the physical part, anyway — but he could help someone else achieve that goal.
Quinn, for instance.
Griffin was already moving into the cleaner’s crosshairs. If the Mole could make sure Quinn had a clear shot, that would be problem solved.
All right. So what’s the first thing Quinn would want to know?
Where Griffin was, of course.
The Mole woke his computer and opened Slime, his self-written tracking software. Slime was a constant work in progress. He tweaked it sometimes two or three times a week, improving its capabilities and success rate. It could employ a variety of methods, the most common being the ability to track a cell phone.
The Mole didn’t try inputting Griffin’s number, though. He was sure the phone would be untraceable via traditional methods. That was fine. There was another, backdoor route he could try. He’d used it before, after the last time Griffin paid him a visit, when the Mole had wanted to make sure the man had actually left Seattle. It meant sending Griffin an e-mail, but as long as he had a legitimate reason for it, there shouldn’t be a problem.
Using the tracking program, he opened a blank e-mail with an embedded bot that would travel to Griffin’s phone and report back. Until the message was deleted, it would act as a tracking bug.
In the body, he typed:
Quick update. Making progress on woman. Looks like she’s former intelligence but will have more info when I contact you later.
M
He read it again, felt it would stand up to scrutiny, and hit SEND. He then switched to the tracking control screen and waited.
With the exception of the blinking cursor in the upper left corner, the box was empty.
“Let’s go, baby. Show me where he is.”
The cursor continued to blink, unmoving.
“Come on, you son of a bitch. Where are you?”
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
There was at least one other time, with a different target, when the bot had not sent a message back, but the Mole was confident he’d taken care of that error. So why was this one not—
Suddenly the cursor began to move, spitting out a set of GPS coordinates. Once the line was complete, the Mole copied it, pasted it into Google Maps, and was almost instantaneously provided with a location.
For the first time since he’d been shooting aliens with his team, the Mole smiled.
CHAPTER 30
Orlando was asleep when Quinn and Nate reentered her room. Liz was sitting in the chair, working on the laptop.
“How is she?” Quinn asked.
“She’s okay,” Liz said. “Just tired.”
Quinn’s gaze lingered on Orlando for a moment longer before moving down to the laptop screen.
“That’s a little better,” he said.
The blurry picture of the man at the Turkish accident scene had become more defined.
“I tried another pass,” she said, “but there was no visible change, so I think this is as good as it’s going to get.”
Quinn took the computer from her so he could get a better look. While the man’s face was still hazy, it was clear enough to be recognizable, especially to someone who knew him. Unfortunately, Quinn didn’t.
He showed Nate. “Ever seen him?”
“No,” Nate said after he scanned the face.
“Okay, let’s get this out to some people we trust. See if any of them can ID the guy. Can you two do that?”
Nate and Liz looked uncomfortable, but Nate said, “Sure.”
Quinn considered them for a moment. “Something going on here I need to know about?”
“No,” Nate said.
“Yes,” Liz countered.
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “And that would be…?”
Liz glanced at her boyfriend and then at her brother. “Nate’s not exactly fond of sharing information with me.”
“It’s not that,” Nate said. “It’s—”
“He thinks I can’t handle it. There’s also the whole keep-the-secrets-in-the-club thing you’ve all got going.” She pointed at her brother. “That’s your fault.” To Nate, she said, “I have news for you. I’m in the club now. Have been since the moment I arrived in Los Angeles and found you missing. You want this to work out between us? Don’t coddle me, and don’t keep things from me.”
Only three weeks ago, Quinn would have argued in Nate’s favor, telling his sister she didn’t need to know certain things. But she was right. She’d played a valuable part in the search for Nate and Peter, and had handled herself exceptionally well. And then there was Orlando. He didn’t need her to almost die for him to know how important she was in his life, but it reinforced the point nonetheless. Being with her — their loving each other — made everything better, but their relationship would have never lasted if they’d kept secrets from each other. As much as he hated to admit it, Nate and Liz were good together. He loved both of them, and knew they deserved what he and Orlando had. If they could get past acting like idiots.
He took a deep breath and said, “Dear God, are you kidding me? Nate, sometimes there’s an exception that trumps any of the rules I’ve taught you. Can you not see that Liz is that exception? Don’t screw it up. And Liz, there’s a club of secrets. And yes, you’re in it now, but sometimes both Nate and I will forget that and balk before telling you something. It doesn’t mean we don’t trust you. It just means we want to keep you safe. Point it out to us when it happens, then move on.” They both gaped at him. “Are we good? Great, then let’s get those e-mails sent.”
While they got started, he walked over to Orlando and ran his hand lightly over the top of her head.
“Nice speech,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.
“Oh, you were listening, were you?”
“Kind of hard to sleep with all the noise.”
His playful manner disappeared. “Oh, sorry. We’ll move down to the cafeteria.”
“Don’t you dare. I like having people here.”
He swept his finger past her temple. “Are you sure?”
When she didn’t answer, he realized she’d fallen back asleep. He was half tempted to go ahead and tell the others to take it out of the room, but he knew that wasn’t what Orlando wanted.
A few minutes later, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and saw the call was from UKNOWN. He moved over near the door and answered.
“Where are your friends hiding?” the Mole asked. The machine-like monotone was still there, but his halting speech pattern was gone.
“I don’t think I need to tell you that.”
“Then let me tell you. Western Virginia, or perhaps West Virginia.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because my client is heading in that direction as we speak.”
Quinn tensed. “Where exactly is he?”
“At the moment, on I-66 ten miles west of Marshall, Virginia.”
Quinn didn’t have a map in front of him, but if the Mole’s client was still on I-66, he had to be at least forty-five minutes to an hour away from Daeng and the others. “Are you going to tell me his name now?”
“That depends. Can you promise me he won’t be a problem for me anymore?”
“If he’s involved in what I think he is, then yes.”
“That’s not a guarantee.”
“It’s the best I can do at the moment.”
A pause, then, “Griffin. His name is Griffin.”
Helen Cho stood at her office window. She could see all the way to the Bay Bridge and Treasure Island. But she wasn’t looking at the sights. She wasn’t looking at anything at all.
On the desk behind her, her computer screen still displayed the crime scene photos from the car wreck in Turkey. It was definitely a crime scene, not an accident, as she and almost everyone else believed for so long.