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I take a deep breath to steady myself. Klein comes toward me and wraps her arms around me in a hug. It helps, and I can feel my anxiety ease slightly.
“Will you stay here tonight?” I ask her as I lean down to inhale the scent of her hair.
“Yes,” she answers, her voice vibrating against my chest.
How have I come to need this woman so much so quickly?
19
KLEIN
I wakeup curled up against Mateo in his bed. It felt nice to stay here with him for the night. I think we both slept better than we would have if we’d split up for the night.
Mateo agrees to meet me outside the courthouse at 8:30am. The same place we hid during the attack. I’ll go into work for 8am, a little earlier than usual, but not suspiciously early. I feel nervous about what I’m about to do. I know it’s right, but I also know no one I work with would see if in quite the same way.
I hurry home. It’s a short walk from Mateo’s place to mine. I take a quick shower and get dressed, then head straight to work without eating anything.
When I get to there, it’s still quiet. Only two other people are in the office. I log in to my computer. My heart is racing as I sign into the new NSA records that we have access to. It feels like a violation. This level of access is supposed to be reserved for finding terrorists. Even using it for that is questionable. The attack on the courthouse could be justified as a terrorist act. Still, it feels so wrong to even have access to this.
I copy the phone number from the slip of paper that Mateo wrote it on. Then I hit search.
It doesn’t take long for the records to come up. It includes a record of incoming and outgoing phone calls. There aren’t many. Just a handful for this number. The most recent one an outgoing call late last night. It must have been the call to Mateo. No calls in or out since then.
There’s also a list called “CSLI.” Cell Site Location Information. This absolutely seems like the kind of information we should not be able to get without a warrant and probable cause. But there it is, right in front of me with barely more than the click of a button.
It looks like there’s a location logged every 8 hours. The last several of them are all the same place. About an hour north of us. That must be where they’re holding Elio and the others.
I write down the coordinates of the location on the same piece of paper I got from Mateo. I lock my computer, stuff the note in my pocket and hurry out of the office trying to look casual.
When I get around to the side of the courthouse, it’s not even quarter after eight, but Mateo’s car is already there. I run to the passenger window and Mateo lowers it right as I get there. Riccardo is driving as usual, and there are two other men in the back seat. They all look serious.
“I found it,” I say to Mateo, passing him the note with the location I copied down. “It looks like it’s about an hour away.”
Mateo takes the slip of paper and looks at the coordinates. He pulls out a road atlas, an actual book of paper maps, and uses the coordinates to find the location.
“It’s up by New Hope,” Mateo says to Riccardo. Then he turns back to me, “Thank you for your help.”
“Be careful,” I say squeezing his hand over the sill of the car window. “Let me know when you’re safe.”
“We’re not bringing any phones,” Mateo says grimly. “I’ll let you know what happens, but don’t expect to hear from me for a few hours.”
I nod.
Mateo nods back at me, then gestures for Riccardo to leave. I watch them drive away before I head back to work. I stop at the café in the ground floor of our office building to get coffee and a bagel so it doesn’t look weird to anyone who might have seen me leave before.
I’m only slightly relieved, now that my part is done. Mateo has the harder job. All I can do is wait and hope that everything goes okay.
When I get back to my office, it’s slightly busier. About half of my co-workers are now here. I unlock my computer and re-open the phone records I had pulled for the phone number. I was in a hurry to get the most recent location of the phone, that I didn’t spend much time looking at the earlier calls listed.
There are several different incoming or outgoing calls. But there’s one I think I recognize. It’s an incoming call. I check my phone to see if the number is what I think it is.
It’s a match.
Charles Castille’s office. Charles Castille called the kidnapper’s cell phone. The day before the attack on the courthouse.
“Holy shit,” I say under my breath.
This is too much. There’s no way this is just a coincidence. Whoever the attackers were, Castille called them. He knows who they are. Which also means, he probably knows a lot more than he let on the other day.
