Free Fall

Thirty-Two

Manhattan, New York

Sirens howled in the twilight as Kate entered the bar where she’d arranged to meet her source.

It was seven blocks from her building in Morningside Heights, sandwiched between Aunt Dottie’s Pie Shop and Loving Care Alterations. This was a region of Harlem and the Upper West Side that locals considered an extension of Columbia University’s campus.

Kate threaded through coveys of grad students, making her way to an empty booth. The air was heavy with the smells of beer and deep-fried food. The place was dark, the floor was sticky and the walls were aging brick. Each wooden table had a flickering lamp. The menu was on the chalkboard behind the bar, above the mirror that hung between the muted flat-screen TVs, which were tuned to sports. Thankfully, the music was played at a level that invited conversation.

“I’m waiting for a friend. I’ll just have a Diet Coke,” she told her server.

Kate checked her phone for messages, then marveled at how time had flown. It’d been a year since she’d last seen Erich. Sipping her drink, she inventoried the crowd, wondering what young Erich, or “Viper,” looked like now, and, more important, if he could help her.

“Hello, Kate,” said a voice behind her.

“Erich.”

“I was in the corner when I saw you.” He slid into her booth.

The lamplight reflected his intense, deep-set eyes. His hair was cut short; he still had a stubbled goatee and a stud in his left earlobe. She detected a pleasant hint of cologne.

“What’re you, twenty-three now?” she asked.

“Twenty-four. You’re looking well, Kate.”

“Thank you. So are you. Are you still doing your top secret consulting work as one of the world’s best hackers?” She smiled.

“Cyber specialist.”

“So what was the job in New Zealand? Did you have to eliminate anyone?”

He tugged at his ear, smiling.

“Well, keeping this between friends, I was contracted to help with Stone Ghost.”

“Stone Ghost?”

“It’s a classified network that shares defense intelligence among the US, the UK, Canada, Australia and New Zealand.”

“But if it’s secret…”

“You can read a summary of Stone Ghost online.” Erich turned to the server. “I’ll have a tomato juice with ice, please.” Then to Kate: “So, how are your daughter and sister doing?”

“Both good.”

Sipping her Coke, Kate caught the reflection of a woman at the bar. She seemed to be watching them. More likely Erich. Dishwater blonde, tight T-shirt, jeans, red bag. She was older than the students, and had a hardness about her. Divorced? A cougar? A hooker, maybe?

“Kate?”

She returned her attention to Erich.

“I’ve been reading your stories on the airliners. Is there any way I can help?”

She ran down the history for him, from the beginning when she’d first heard the EastCloud crew on the newsroom scanners to her current quandary.

“I believe the cause of these two flights’ issues is linked to the email. I need help confirming it and I need help determining the source of the email.”

Kate unfolded printouts of the Zarathustra email and passed it to Erich. He studied it, rubbing his stubble thoughtfully.

“I tried to respond but got this.” She tapped her finger on the printout with the error message reading “permanent failure, unknown user” and a long string of technical text. “What d’you think?”

“Off the top, it looks basic, but smart. Your sender is likely routing the message through a multitude of places online, using layers of encryption, characteristic of an onion router. Good chance they’re using hidden servers on the Darknet.”

“Can you help me?”

“No guarantees, but there are things I can try, people I can talk to.”

“Thank you. Anything you could do would be great.”

Kate heard a soft vibration. Erich reached into his pocket for his phone and scrolled along the screen, reading a message.

“I’m sorry, Kate, I have to go.”

After Erich left, Kate stayed, finished her Coke, and paid the bill.

The night was warm and pleasant. Buoyed by Erich’s promise to help, Kate decided she’d walk the seven blocks to her building. Along the way she searched her phone and reread the Zarathustra email.

One way or another I’m going to find you.

The sudden growl of a motor prompted Kate to look quickly behind her at a passing motorcycle. She did a double take. Half a block back, she saw a woman window-shopping.

Dishwater blonde, open jacket over a tight T-shirt, jeans, red bag.

The woman from the bar.

Kate continued walking, thinking hard. Something troubled her about the stranger. She was familiar. Why?

Kate crossed the street, throwing her a backward glance. The woman continued window-shopping. As Kate kept walking, she scoured her memory, trying to recall anything familiar about the woman’s hairstyle or the shape of her face. As details swam into focus, it hit her.

I saw that woman in the grocery store near my building just before I left for London!

Kate kept walking and glanced back. The woman was still behind her but was now on her side of the street. Maybe she lived in the neighborhood.

No, because I saw her again when I got back from London and took Grace to Central Park. She was on a bench reading a book. She was always in the distance. I remember her. She can’t be following me.

Kate walked faster.

I’m going to find out.

Kate stopped in front of a closed jewelry store and gazed through the steel bars of its storefront. All the while, she watched for the woman. The stranger crossed the street and rounded a corner. Kate resumed walking, rounding the opposite corner. A short time later, she spotted the woman in the distance. Kate thought quickly, deciding to go around the entire block.

With every turn of every corner, the woman had stayed with her.

Kate stepped into an alcove. Her breathing quickened.

Why am I being followed?

Kate peered from the alcove. The woman was at the end of the block, across the street. Kate waited to confront her, unafraid.

She could handle herself.

She’d taken firearms courses, although she hated guns and never carried one. She’d taken self-defense courses. She’d taken courses with private investigators. She had a can of pepper spray and a personal alarm in her bag.

The stranger lingered at the end of the street.

Come on, come on.

Kate wanted her to get closer. She reached into her bag and slid her fingers around the pepper spray canister.

Come on. I’m ready for you.

The woman kept her distance.

Kate stepped from the alcove and walked in the stranger’s direction. The woman turned and began walking away. Kate bolted after her, glad she’d worn flat shoes. The woman ran around the corner. Kate ran after her as fast as she could, rounding the corner, glimpsing her crossing the street and running to the next corner. Kate darted through traffic, adrenaline and anger giving her speed.

When Kate took the next corner the woman had vanished.

Kate stopped in her tracks and scanned the street. A car door shut. An ignition turned. She was near. Kate tore off in the direction of the sound and spotted the woman in a sedan, hearing the transmission shift. As she got closer, the engine revved, the car lurched, tires squealed and it pulled away.

Kate stood on the sidewalk, reciting the license plate as she wrote it down in her notebook.

“Gotcha!”