Trophies and Truths
The return flight from the archipelago was quietly surreal. Dan and Amber sat in companionable silence for most of the trip back to Carson City. Midway through the trip they began stealing glances and giving each other small knowing smiles.
They were falling in love. For Amber it was all over again, for Dan it was something brand new. He had never truly understood his role in their marriage. He provided, he attended family events, he respected her. Now he knew he never did any of it – you had to be present to do any of those things and Dan Trace had not been present in his marriage until recently.
They decided to have a driver pick them up from the airport, still lost in the tranquil fog of rediscovery.
The car phone rang—a sharp, discordant sound that shattered the reflective peace between then. It was Samuel.
Amber frowned as she answered on speaker. The silence on the other end lasted two seconds too long.
"Hey Samuel?" Amber's voice was laced with concern. "We just go back. We are headed to the estate now."
"Dan. Amber," Samuel's voice was a low, fractured rasp. "There's been an attack. It's Calvin. He's in surgery at Carson City Trauma. Maybe you guys should come here first."
There was a long silence as the news sunk in. Finally Amber let out a shocked breath. "He's in surgery?" She looked to Dan and he immediately moved to tell the driver of the change in destination. "What happened Sam?"
"He was stabbed in the back at the B&B." Amber let out a small gasp of disbelief.
"Are we thinking this is related to the spy tech found in the spa?"
"We don't know yet, but he did know the cameras and the routines. It does suggest that he has been observing. And Am, he cut off Calvin's right pinky. If he survives it is unclear if he will be able to be a chef again. The orthopedic doctor is saying he can still use the hand he will just have to adjust to the loss, maybe relearn how to use his kitchen tools."
Amber thought for a moment. "The person took his pinky? Was that gaudy ring he always wears still there?"
It took a minute for Sam to answer. "A ring? He wore a ring?"
Dan answered this time, moving closer to the phone as if he wanted to be sure to be heard. "He never took it off. A large square cut emerald set in one of those antique signet settings."
"There was no ring. This guy took two trophies."
"No Sam." Amber spoke as if she were lost in thought. "Only one was a trophy. Maybe the finger is still there at the B&B. Either way this is more than a voyeur."
Dan put his arm around Amber, wanting to comfort her and himself. "We're on our way Samuel. Give us twenty minutes."
Three hours later, at the Blue-Trace Security Hub, Vane was hunched over the main console. He was focused on a single string of metadata from the Reykjavik jump.
"Miller, look at this," Vane said, his voice a low, clinical monotone.
Miller stepped behind him, his eyes narrowing. "What am I looking at?"
"The encryption on the Reykjavik server isn't just a mask. It's a repository," Vane explained. "He's using it to store mirrored data. Look at the folder name."
The screen flickered, showing a single, encrypted file titled: [CERUL-A].
While Vane worked the keys, Miller had a hunch. He pulled up the International Police Exchange for Reykjavik, Iceland, and began looking for – anything. His eyes went wide when he spotted an unsolved case dated three years ago. It involved a stabbing and removal of a digit, this time the small toe of the left foot.
He put in a request for the files then began searching news reports.
"Renowned Marine Biologist Found Slain in Apartment; No Evidence found at the scene. Police Confounded!"
Miller clicked the photo. The victim was a young woman, a brilliant scientist who had dedicated her life to environmental conservation. The article detailed a single stab wound to the side... and reports of an unknown trophy taken. There was a worry of a serial killer being in Reykjavik.
The article continued to say that the woman had complained of a stalker to friends and family but she was told, by police, that nothing could be done without more concrete evidence to the fact. The article ended by saying the young woman had been failed by an antiquated system.
Miller's eyes went back to the photo of the marine biologist. She was smiling broadly, her eyes enthusiastic, her manner authoritative. She was Amber Ann Lance-Trace with blond hair and blue eyes.
"He has a pattern," Miller whispered. "He isn't looking for a socialite. He's hunting powerful, intelligent women. He finds a scientist, a researcher, an architect of change... he stays until he's ready to 'cleanse' her environment, and then he takes his prize."
Vane never looked up, he simply sent an encrypted text to Albert Cummings.
"Mr. Cummings, we may not be looking for a hacker. He may be a serial predator who sees Amber's intellect as his next great collection. Miller has hit on something in Reykjavik."