The Present
Three inches of snow would hide a lot of ugliness, Georgia thought as she climbed into her Toyota. It wasn’t coming down yet, but the skies were gray and threatening. She stopped into the supermarket for baby formula, a cooked chicken, and salad. She was about to go to the checkout lines when a greasy, sugary aroma made her backtrack to the bakery, where she picked up a box of cookies just out of the oven.
Back home she nabbed a parking space in front of her building—the gods were granting her parking karma today. Inside, she headed toward the kitchen, calling out, “Hey, I’m home.”
There was no answer. She put the food away and checked Vanna’s room. No Vanna. Or Charlie. She grabbed her phone and texted, “Hey. Where are you?” Vanna usually replied right away.
Georgia checked the calendar in the kitchen. Vanna didn’t have class on Tuesday. When Vanna didn’t respond after five minutes, a tiny prickle of worry edged up her spine. She called Sam, but her friend’s voice mail picked up. She left a message. “Hi, Sam. Is Vanna with you?”
She was just disconnecting when her cell buzzed. Probably Vanna. She checked the incoming number. It wasn’t. She picked up.
“Oh, hi, Zach.”
“Gee. I’ve had warmer welcomes from a statue.”
“I’m sorry. I was—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
A high-pitched canine bark spilled from the phone’s handset.
“Doesn’t sound like Joshua. New puppy?”
Zach, and his brother Mike, had been rescuing big dogs for years. Shepherds, Rottweilers, retrievers. Despite their size and seeming ferocity, they were well trained and gentle, at least to the brothers’ friends.
“As a matter of fact, Jeremiah has joined the family.”
“Still with the biblical Js,” she said. Their other dogs, Joshua and Jericho, had crossed over the Rainbow Bridge.
“We wouldn’t want to tempt our higher power. Whose name, Jehovah, we say in all reverence.”
She hesitated. Was he kidding? Because Georgia didn’t believe in anything she couldn’t see, hear, touch, or taste, the fact that others could, especially those she respected, baffled her.
He laughed, as if he knew what she was thinking. “So. What is it today?”
“Can I buy you a beer? I’d rather talk in person.”
“Come on over. Bar’s open.”
Thirty minutes later, Georgia was sitting inside Zach Dolan’s office tucked away in an industrial park in Northbrook. Zach still looked like the brunette son of Santa Claus: burly, with dark eyes and long hair that blended into a full beard. He was attempting to nurse a beer, but a curious shepherd puppy kept nosing its head into Zach’s lap, demanding to be part of the conversation.
“Meet Jeremiah,” Zach said.
Jeremiah pricked up his ears at the sound of his name, and his tail began to swish like a windshield wiper on high speed.
“Smart guy.”
“Can you believe he was a rescue? Who would abandon a beautiful dog like that?”
Despite her cynicism, her heart pinged. Why was it so easy to have more compassion for an abandoned dog than for a person? Was it that dogs were intrinsically innocent creatures, who through no fault of their own had landed in ill-fated circumstances, while humans were supposed to have free will and were, at least partially, responsible for their lots? Then again, humans were supposed to be God’s creatures too. It was a no-win argument.
Zach fondled the dog’s ears. “So, what brings you to my lair?”
She glanced around. The room they sat in was occupied by four computers, each flashing a mysterious light or two. Still, as she’d learned before, Zach’s security protocols were first-rate. No hot mics, hidden cameras, or other surveillance toys would monitor or record their conversation.
“In nontechnical terms, can you explain how someone might set up an email account and then delete it without leaving a trace?”
“Hmm. Tell me more.”
“Oh, and whoever did it was able to hack into a private server. But here’s the thing: as far as I know, that account only sent one email while it existed.”
“Interesting.”
“The person who received the email tried to reply but got the ‘there is no such account’ message.”
Zach stroked his beard for a moment. Then: “Well, off the top of my head, I can think of two ways to do it.”
Georgia inclined her head.
“You could buy a hacked account on the dark web with bitcoin.”
“How does that work?”
“You use bitcoins to buy an account that’s already been hacked and is for sale. Then you send the email and tear everything down afterwards. It’s complicated but very doable, if you know what you’re doing,” he said. “The other way would be just as safe. Basically you would need a VPN, Tor, and an—”
“Tor is the browser that lets you surf anonymously, right?”
“Exactly. And a VPN is a virtual private network that lets you send information securely, without being monitored. You could set up your own account that way.”
“How much knowledge would a person need in order to do either of those things?”
“It’s not rocket science.” He paused. “But I guess it does take some skill in hacking.”
“And there would be no way to trace it.”
“Right. Unless the device being used had malware or a virus already on it. Which wouldn’t be the case if someone knows what they’re doing.”
Jeremiah padded over to Georgia and tucked his face in her lap. She petted him.
“He likes you.”
“I like him.”
“You should get a dog.”
“I have a baby instead. Which reminds me.” Georgia dug out her cell and checked for messages. Nothing from Vanna. “One other question. If you have a private server, do you have a VPN?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“So theoretically whoever hacked into that server and/or VPN had the proper credentials?”
“With the right encryption software it’s a piece of cake.”
“What if they didn’t? Have the encryption keys.”
He blew out a breath. “Wow. That would be hard.”
“How hard?”
“To hack into a VPN without the key would take me a long time. Days. Weeks. Even months. The NSA did it, but look at their resources. It would be a whole lot easier just to steal the encryption keys.”
“How?”
“Easiest way would be to know someone who had the key and get it from them. Knowingly or not.”
Georgia mulled it over. Did whoever send the beef jerky email know the Baldwin family? Or Dena? Jeremiah nosed her lap again, demanding attention. She stroked the top of his head.
“So, you want to tell me why you need to know all this?” Zach asked.
“I can’t. Not yet.” Georgia bit her lip. “But does the term ‘beef jerky’ mean anything to you?”
“My favorite is Sweet ’n Spicy.”
“Not in that context. What if I sent you a message that said, ‘Find the beef jerky’?”
Zach frowned. “Uh—”
“I take it you have no idea.”
“Not a clue,” he said. “But when you figure it out . . .”
She stood. “You’ll be the first to know.”