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“Why the hell are you calling me?” He was clearly livid.
Hysterically, Suzanne blurted out everything that was taking place. “They’re going to kill me, Glen! I heard them! Please, do something!”
“Calm down, you stupid bitch. They don’t want you. They want me. Now hang up before they can trace this call.”
* * *
Glen practically threw the phone across the room. “Fucking idiot.”
He whipped around, his blazing stare finding Claire, who was lying in the same position she’d been in for hours, naked and bound.
She cringed as he approached her.
“Scared? Good.” Glen squatted down and gripped her neck with his hand. He smiled when he felt the racing pulse at her throat. He squeezed—just enough to make her whimper in pain. Then he shoved her aside. “You’re a good stress reliever. But the prize is on its way.”
* * *
Ryan, Hutch, Patrick and Marc were gathered in Ryan’s lair, tense and waiting to see if their ruse had worked.
Ryan nearly jumped out of his chair when Yoda announced, “Call traced. Do you wish to hear the recording?”
“Now!” Ryan screamed.
“Call from 917-555-3644 to 917-555-6802,” Yoda dutifully responded. “Message as follows...” He then replayed the terse conversation between the Fishers.
Ryan ignored Suzanne’s hysterical voice and Glen’s volatile response. “That’s it,” he said in excitement. “That’s Fisher’s number.” He turned to Patrick. “How long will an NYPD warrant take?”
“A couple of hours, if we’re lucky,” Patrick replied.
“On an expedited basis? With Casey’s and Claire’s lives on the line? You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“It’s close to midnight, Ryan. We have to wake up some judge and get him to agree we have just cause. Or do I need to remind you that we obtained this information illegally?”
“Fuck that.”
“‘That’ is an ambiguous term, Ryan,” Yoda said. “What are we going to fuck?”
“Everyone, that’s who,” Ryan yelled. “I’m not sitting on my ass for some sleeping judge to wake up while Fisher’s doing God knows what to Claire and Casey. It’s time I ran this show.”
He crossed over and grabbed some black clothes and his gear bag, which he began to stuff with items he selected from his work area.
“Yoda, check the network used by Glen’s burn phone,” he commanded.
A few seconds passed. “Call was received using Verizon Wireless network.”
“Deploy Tracer on call destination,” Ryan ordered. “Operational mode is Stealth. Resources Maximum. Target is Verizon Wireless.”
Tracer was a hacking script of Ryan’s that would penetrate a cell phone provider’s massive network of towers and use its own computer systems to triangulate the location of a cell phone, given its phone number and approximate time the call was made. Stealth insured that no one could trace the illegal hack to Ryan and FI. Maximum resources would simultaneously launch a denial-of-service attack at Verizon’s network, using a worldwide network of zombie computers at Ryan’s disposal, set to divert all of Verizon’s security systems and resources to repelling the fake assault, letting Tracer complete its urgent mission undetected.
“Tracer deployed,” Yoda confirmed. “Mode is Stealth with Maximum resources. Target is Verizon Wireless.”
“Good.” Ryan turned back to the other men. “Hutch, you and Patrick can excuse yourselves. Marc and I will handle this.”
“I’m in,” Hutch insisted, refusing to leave. “I’ll deal with the fallout later.”
“I’m in, too.” Patrick’s features were taut. “I’m an FI team member, first and foremost. We protect our own.”
“Okay.” Ryan nodded. He didn’t seem all that surprised. But he did seem a lot less pissed. “Then it’s time to get ready. We move as soon as Yoda gives me my answer.”
