the room was dark, he didn’t need the light from his cell phone to see what was inside–computers, lots of them. Circular blue lights, maybe a dozen in a row, cast their pale, cool glow over the many towers. Routers and hubs flashed various color combinations of yellow, red, and green. One small, square table held a monitor, keyboard and mouse.
It had to be the center of their computer network, their connection to the internet.
The room was warm and the whirring fans of the machines hummed at various pitches as he approached the table. Mac nudged the mouse and the monitor flared to life, too bright in the relative darkness. A small message in the center of the screen prompted him for a password.
No doubt the right password would unlock exactly the kind of data he needed. But there was a reason nothing was locked. The rooms were either devoid of anything important or, like this, they were secure. He glanced at the myriad towers and networking equipment. Nor could be just take hard drives. That would no doubt send people running here. Plus, it wouldn’t lead them to Kayla. He checked the time on his phone.
Though he hoped that Isabelle was having more luck, he doubted that was the case.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“How long?” Maurice asked, watching the wall of monitors.
“Fifteen minutes,” said the security guard.
Maurice had left Geoffrey in the living room with his vodka. Normally they caught kids on video, sneaking up the stairs, playing in the rooms–hide and seek about the worst of it. It always came as a shock to them when they were confronted. Swift punishment ensured that they didn’t have repeat offenders.
But these weren’t kids.
Isabelle and her boyfriend, in separate rooms, looking for something. Neither of them had detected the hidden cameras–placed in fake fire detectors and wall clocks, co-located within thermostats. There was no part of the operation that wasn’t under scrutiny, except for the rooms he used. Even Geoffrey was under surveillance, though he didn’t know it.
Isabelle’s boyfriend was methodical. The man was quickly discovering what Maurice already knew. There was nothing to find, not in this building. Maurice peered at the monitor. Geoffrey was right. The boyfriend was intimidating, even from above. Isabelle, on the other hand–he watched her opening desk drawers–kept glancing at the door and was making far less progress.
“Bring him,” Maurice said.
“What about the girl?” asked the other guard.
“I’ll handle her,” Maurice replied.
• • • • •
Despite the fact that there were two security guards flanking Isabelle’s boyfriend, Geoffrey went to the opposite corner of the small, windowless room. Maurice had said there was to be a punishment. But as he watched Mac’s glare follow him, he couldn’t believe Maurice meant to punish Mac.
The room was barren, designed that way by Maurice. Sometimes people were left in here for hours before their punishment. By the time Maurice and Geoffrey showed up, the punishment itself was anti-climatic. The children had invariably already melted down and often the adults as well. Nevertheless, Maurice always followed through. He would mete out the punishment and Geoffrey would console the offender. It was a system that never failed.
Somehow, though, Geoffrey didn’t picture Mac needing consolation.
Or sitting still for punishment.
The only ‘decorations’ in the room were hung on the wall next to the door: a wooden paddle, a rattan cane, a leather strap, a yardstick, and the shock wand. Just the sight of them had children crying. A single, wooden chair was pushed into a corner. Geoffrey sat in it when he put the kids over his knee.
The door burst open and Maurice propelled Isabelle through.
“Mac!” she said, as she nearly fell into his arms and he caught her.
“Are you all right?” Mac asked, helping her to regain her balance.
“I’m fine,” she breathed, holding on to
It had to be the center of their computer network, their connection to the internet.
The room was warm and the whirring fans of the machines hummed at various pitches as he approached the table. Mac nudged the mouse and the monitor flared to life, too bright in the relative darkness. A small message in the center of the screen prompted him for a password.
No doubt the right password would unlock exactly the kind of data he needed. But there was a reason nothing was locked. The rooms were either devoid of anything important or, like this, they were secure. He glanced at the myriad towers and networking equipment. Nor could be just take hard drives. That would no doubt send people running here. Plus, it wouldn’t lead them to Kayla. He checked the time on his phone.
Though he hoped that Isabelle was having more luck, he doubted that was the case.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“How long?” Maurice asked, watching the wall of monitors.
“Fifteen minutes,” said the security guard.
Maurice had left Geoffrey in the living room with his vodka. Normally they caught kids on video, sneaking up the stairs, playing in the rooms–hide and seek about the worst of it. It always came as a shock to them when they were confronted. Swift punishment ensured that they didn’t have repeat offenders.
But these weren’t kids.
Isabelle and her boyfriend, in separate rooms, looking for something. Neither of them had detected the hidden cameras–placed in fake fire detectors and wall clocks, co-located within thermostats. There was no part of the operation that wasn’t under scrutiny, except for the rooms he used. Even Geoffrey was under surveillance, though he didn’t know it.
Isabelle’s boyfriend was methodical. The man was quickly discovering what Maurice already knew. There was nothing to find, not in this building. Maurice peered at the monitor. Geoffrey was right. The boyfriend was intimidating, even from above. Isabelle, on the other hand–he watched her opening desk drawers–kept glancing at the door and was making far less progress.
“Bring him,” Maurice said.
“What about the girl?” asked the other guard.
“I’ll handle her,” Maurice replied.
• • • • •
Despite the fact that there were two security guards flanking Isabelle’s boyfriend, Geoffrey went to the opposite corner of the small, windowless room. Maurice had said there was to be a punishment. But as he watched Mac’s glare follow him, he couldn’t believe Maurice meant to punish Mac.
The room was barren, designed that way by Maurice. Sometimes people were left in here for hours before their punishment. By the time Maurice and Geoffrey showed up, the punishment itself was anti-climatic. The children had invariably already melted down and often the adults as well. Nevertheless, Maurice always followed through. He would mete out the punishment and Geoffrey would console the offender. It was a system that never failed.
Somehow, though, Geoffrey didn’t picture Mac needing consolation.
Or sitting still for punishment.
The only ‘decorations’ in the room were hung on the wall next to the door: a wooden paddle, a rattan cane, a leather strap, a yardstick, and the shock wand. Just the sight of them had children crying. A single, wooden chair was pushed into a corner. Geoffrey sat in it when he put the kids over his knee.
The door burst open and Maurice propelled Isabelle through.
“Mac!” she said, as she nearly fell into his arms and he caught her.
“Are you all right?” Mac asked, helping her to regain her balance.
“I’m fine,” she breathed, holding on to
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