“You’re down to twelve hours.” Hornbrook’s cold tone camethrough despite the voice-altering software. “Did you finish the jobs I gave you?”
Hez licked his lips. “We’re making progress. We’ve destroyed all copies of the database, just like you asked. We’re closing in on the blackmailer, too, but we need more time.”
“You don’t have it.”
“Let me talk to Savannah. How do I know she and Simon are still alive?”
“They’re still alive—for the moment.” Another recording of Savannah reading a current headline, followed by the ominous words “twelve hours.”
The line went dead.
Hez played the recorded conversation twice to make sure he caught every nuance. Savannah’s voice was a dagger in his heart, but it was more than that. She was telling him something more than Hornbrook intended—but what?
Hez forwarded the recording to everyone who’d been at the last meeting, including a Zoom link in the email. Then he opened the Zoom meeting and waited, his mind racing.
Bruno’s bald head appeared first, followed a few seconds later by Hope and Michael. Ed, Dominga, and Toni were probably in class. There was no time to wait for them.
Hez jumped right in. “Savannah left clues for us in that last message. She doesn’t have a dog named Cass, and something was off about how she was talking.”
Hope’s brow furrowed. “Off? How exactly?”
“She kept saying ‘’kay’ and she slurred her words. She worked hard on her diction when she started teaching, and it’s instinctive for her now. She doesn’t normally talk like that.”
Michael grunted. “Think she’s drunk or drugged?”
Hez thought for a moment. “It’s possible, I guess, but that doesn’t explain why she’s asking me to take care of a fictional dog.”
Hope leaned her cheek against her hand. “I also have some clues to add to the mix. The FBI did an acoustic analysis on the first message and picked up what sounded like seagulls and possibly waves in the background.”
“So they might be near a beach.” Michael rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t mean much around here.”
Hez snapped his fingers. “Yes, it does! I’ll bet she’s on a cay. There are lots of private islands and cays in the Caribbean. We stayed on Fowl Cay during our honeymoon. She wasn’t saying ‘okay.’ She was saying ‘cay.’”
“Maybe.” Michael scratched his jaw. “What about the dog thing?”
“Oh.” Hope tapped her keyboard. “There’s a group of islands called the Dog Islands. Maybe she’s there.”
Michael nodded slowly. “Could be.”
Bruno cocked his head and frowned. “Dunno. She said to take care of a dog named Cass, which seems weirdly specific if she’s just trying to get us to think of dogs. Is one of the Dog Islands named Cass or something?”
Hope typed some more, then sat back. “No, and there’s no town called Cass on any of them.”
“Wait—let’s listen to exactly what she said.” Hez played the message again. “She’s really only slurring her words when she says ‘care of Cass.’ Maybe she’s running them together on purpose. She’s actually saying ‘care-a-Cass.’”
Michael frowned. “So what does that mean?”
No one responded.
Bruno chuckled. “I had an uncle in Chicago who thought Care-a-cass was the capital of Venezuela.” His eyes widened. “Hold on a sec!” His hands flew over his keyboard so fast that his typing sounded like static. “Ha! Bet I found ’em!”
“Where?” Hez and Michael asked simultaneously.
Bruno’s face split into a wide grin. “Private island about ten miles off the coast of Venezuela, near Caracas. It’s owned by a shell company controlled by Hornbrook.”
Hez punched the air. “Yes! We can contact the Venezuelan authorities and— What’s wrong?”
Hope was shaking her head and grimacing. She sighed. “The Venezuelans don’t cooperate with us at all. They hate American law enforcement—partially because we’ve arrested some of their government officials for drug smuggling and other crimes. If we ask for their help, we’ll be lucky if they just ignore us. More likely, they’d send forces out to the island to protect it against Yankee intervention.”
