Salvation полностью

“Back home, I guess.”

“They were scheduled to visit you today.”

“Sure, man. We were going to spend the weekend together, both families. But we had to cancel, you know?”

“I do not know, sir. Why was the visit canceled?”

“The goddamn yacht, Sea Star III. My marina service company called me this afternoon. They prep her for me every time before I take her out: food, power charge, general maintenance, that kind of shit. This time the engine diagnostics showed a fault. They had to take the old girl out of the water to fix her. So we canceled. It’s a twenty-four-carat buttpain. Bel and Rose had been planning this for months; we were going to take Sea Star all the way down to the Keys.”

“So you spoke to Kravis this afternoon?”

“Sure. He was disappointed. Our kids all get on, you know? It was a big family event.”

“You spoke with him? It wasn’t just an altme message?”

“Yeah. He was still in the office, at his desk.”

“Did he say where he would go instead?”

“No. What is this? What’s happened to Kravis?”

“We can’t locate him. Did he indicate if he would go somewhere else for the weekend?”

“No. He was kind of pissed he’d have to spend the weekend at home, you know? Me too. Why, what’s happened?”

“We don’t know what’s happened.”

“Jesus, is he all right?”

Alik put that particular stupidity down to the time of night. “I need the name of your marina service company; please send it to my altme. And if any of the Lorenzo family contact you, you’re to inform me at once. Understand?”

“Yeah. But come on, man, what’s happened to them?”

“We don’t know.” Alik ended the call and told Shango to load an observation routine on Niall Kanoto’s access codes, then put another on his immediate family as well. If Kravis did attempt to get in touch with his yachting buddy, the precinct G7Turing would know before him.

“Confirming this,” Bietzk said. “Connexion logged the Lorenzo family entering the metrohub loop in the Village at nine seventeen in the evening and coming out at the Central Park West hub next to their block three minutes later. That’s their last recorded usage.”

A big wallscreen started showing the Central Park West metrohub’s video surveillance log. Everyone in the case office watched as the Lorenzo family came out of the loop portal. The scene was exceptional in how ordinary it was. Alik could so easily believe it was some kind of ideal family ad. Mom: beautiful, young, smiling; dad: older and measured; the kids with smiles and laughter showing off great dentistry as they joked and teased each other.

Shango connected to the National Citizenship Records Agency and ran characteristics recognition. It was them.

Bietzk switched from the Central Park West hub to the street’s civic surveillance video log. The Lorenzos left the metrohub behind and walked twenty-five meters down the sidewalk, until they turned in to the entrance of their apartment block. Metadata time stamp: nine twenty-one.

“Get the precinct Turing to run a sweep on that video file for the rest of the night,” Salovitz said. “I want to know if they come out again after that. And who else went into the apartment block.”

“Got it,” Bietzk said.

While they were processing that, Alik called the Bureau office in Palm Beach, while Shango rode the precinct’s G7Turing into the network of the marina service company Kanoto used. It pulled the file for Sea Star III, which to his inexpert eye looked like a slightly smaller version of the Jörmungand Celeste.

One of the service company’s engineers had been on board that morning running a final seaworthiness inspection when the yacht’s diagnostic had flagged up the engine problem, some kind of contaminant particles in the gear system. If the engine was switched on, there was a high risk the entire gearing mechanism would seize up. The service company logged a call to Niall Kanoto, informing him the whole thing had to be dismantled and cleaned.

The engineer was called Ali Renzi. An infiltration ping to his altme revealed his location in central Miami. Three agents from the Bureau’s Miami Central office were dispatched to pick him up.

“The Central Park West civic surveillance log has been compromised,” Bietzk said. “Someone’s run a sophisticated non-space edit, cutting human-sized areas out and replacing them with looped background. I’m guessing that’s Javid-Lee’s crew entering the apartment block.”

“Can you track the infiltration?” Salovitz asked.

“Our department can’t.” Bietzk glanced at Alik. “I can contract a major digital audit outfit?”

“Do it,” Salovitz said.

“What about the apartment block’s internal security surveillance?” Alik asked.

“Deactivated. They infiltrated and shut it down without triggering any alarms. Whoever their i-head was, they knew what they were doing.”