Mark of the Beast Read online

“What about the eight that were not positive?” Pinkett asked.

  “I don’t know,” answered Dickerson. “I called the superintendent, and all he could tell me was that they were interesting characters.”

  “Very interesting indeed. What are you going to do next?”

  “I’m going to incorporate that in the detailed report that I plan to present to the American College of Immunology in Orlando next month.”

  “Don’t you think that might be premature?”

  “No. Not really.” Dickerson was blunt. “I heard that Dr. Abramhoff in Chicago, another immunologist, may be performing the same test even as we speak.”

  “Then, go for it. But how can you widen the testing without provoking public outrage or government sanctions?”

  “That’s the six-million-dollar question,” Dickerson said. “I think if I can talk to Dr. Abramhoff at the meeting, we might find a way to collaborate, and in the process we’ll be able to formulate something.”

  “Keep me posted, please; this is becoming more intriguing than I thought.”

  “You aren’t kidding,” Dickerson agreed, thinking about all the possible scenarios concerning the use of such data.

  While on one hand, she did not want to infringe on inmates’ civil rights and jeopardize Detective Pinkett’s and Superintendent Strickland’s positions, on the other hand, this information had the potential for explosive scientific advancements, and to conceal it would be an injustice to the entire scientific community, and the criminal justice system in particular.

  She decided to hold off all further pronouncements until the meeting in Orlando, Florida.

  3

  TAPPING HIS LEFT INDEX finger against his two lower incisor teeth in a melodic, pensive fashion while, in the interim, constantly sucking and chewing on Brach’s Hi-C Fruit Snacks, Bill was trying to create a nonsense circuit overpass against the newly designed security-code password being developed by Uwani Microsystems. “I can do this,” Bill said aloud.

  A systems analyst for Uwani Corporation, Bill Stockton’s job was to check and visualize every imaginable hacker plan against any new security system developed by Uwani.

  “I can do this,” Bill repeated, not realizing that his voice carried.

  “I know you can, Bill,” a perturbed voice answered from the next cubicle.

  Bill was working on the new software system, Uwani-10. The new system was supposed to be hacker-proof, and Uwani had invested nearly two million on its research and development.

  “Are you going to lunch, Bill?” the same voice said some time later.

  “No, go ahead. I have my Brach’s here, I’m okay.”

  At about 4:30 P.M., Bill finally thought he had something.

  419naWAYO was the latest of 241 nonsense codes Bill had tried. Suddenly a message appeared on the screen. “Heck, yes,” Bill shouted, pounding a clenched right hand on the palm of his left hand. “Who is the king of spades, now?”

  “Are you talking to yourself again, Bill?” the same perturbed voice asked.

  “Yes,” Bill smiled. “At least I don’t answer.”

  He had cracked the super-sensitive code that was supposed to be impenetrable.

  He entered the code in his iPad and shredded the notepad with the 240 other different computations he had tried.

  “Any luck?” George, the supervisor, asked as he entered Bill’s cubicle.

  “Not yet,” Bill said. “I have about ten codes that came close, but so far, the system appears tamper-proof.”

  If Bill is unable to crack the security system working from the inside, no one can, thought George.

  “I know you’ve been working hard at this, so why don’t you go home. Tomorrow is another day,” George said.

  “I’ll do that,” Bill replied.

  “See you tomorrow,” George said.

  “Thanks Mr. Dobbs, see you tomorrow.”

  Bill left the Uwani building, located at the corner of Piedmont Avenue and Ellis Street, overlooking busy Interstate 75/85 in downtown Atlanta, Georgia. Driving home, he thought of what could be accomplished if only one person could crack the security of Uwani-10.

  It would be virtually impossible to track the source of the intruder without having to recall the entire Uwani-10 system.

  * * *

  When Uwani-10 launched, it was very successful.

  George Dobbs was very pleased, and Bill received a $27,000 bonus with another 100 shares in the company’s common stock.

  Bill knew that with the 419naWAYO code he could roam around Uwani-10 at will, totally undetected, because the code overrode all security checkpoints.

  Sitting at home, at the newly constructed and sprawling community of Whispering Oaks, in East Point, Bill logged on to Uwani-10, entered his code, and with DSL speed he was roaming the entire Internet.

  He immediately went to his favorite site and headed straight to the chat room. There were 120 people in the “hurt-me” site. Bill followed the various conversations, his face already in a half smile. He then singled out and tracked Silva2782 for a while.

  “I need a real man to bite a real hard job,” Silva2782 typed.

  “Hey, Silva2782, try me,” typed in three responders.

  Bill saw what he wanted.

  “Silva2782, bet I can bite you and you’ll explode.”

  “Bet y’can’t,” Silva2782 said after a few other messages.

  “How much y’wanna bet?” typed Bill.

  “One thousand.”

  “Y’on. D’ya wanna try me?”

  “I don’t even know ya.”

  “Would you like to?”

  “Why? You might be a freak.”

  “You are mine for 1k.”

  There was a brief rapid flurry of other entries.

  Bill could have lost a response.

  “Silva2782, do you want a private chat room?” Bill typed.

  “Okay,” Silva2782 said.

  Once in the private chat room, the exchange turned personal.

  “What do you do?” Silva2782 asked.

  “I work for a reputable computer company in Atlanta,” Bill said. “How about you?”

  “I’m a cocktail waitress in East Chicago, Indiana.”

  “Are you married?”

  “No, are you?”

  “Me? No. How old are you?” asked Bill.

  “I’m thirty-three. And you?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Atlanta must be a beautiful city.”

  “Would you like to visit?”

  “I don’t know. I have to work, and I don’t have the money for traveling.”

  “I can send you a ticket.”

  “Y’owe me $1,000 already.”

  “Oh, yeah, you’ll get that.”

  “I have never been to Atlanta before.”

  “Atlanta is a beautiful place; I’ll show you around.”

  “I have three days off next week.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Okay.”

  “What name shall I put for the ticket?”

  “Silvia Loopier. What’s yours?”

  “Bill Stockton.”

  “Okay, I have Thursday, Friday, and Saturday off.

  “That’s good; the ticket will be for Thursday night, to return on Saturday night. Is that okay?”

  “That would be perfect.”

  “What city in Indiana you fly from?”

  “No, we fly from Chicago.”

  “That’s easy, O’Hare then.”

  “You aren’t freakish, are you?”

  “I have a very reputable job with Uwani in Atlanta.”

  “You sound cute.”

  “I think I am; you’ll see.”

  “I’ll start packing.”

  “You will not regret it,” concluded Bill.

  4

  BILL PICKED UP SILVIA at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. She had been booked with American Airlines, leaving Chicago at 7:39 P.M. and arriving at 11:45 P.M. She’s not a bad-looking gal
, thought Bill, when Silvia arrived. He recognized her quickly; she was wearing a red blouse and light blue short pants, and holding a red umbrella in her left hand, as she had told him ahead of time.

  A visible butterfly tattoo could be seen on her left leg; she had four earrings in each earlobe. A brunette, about five feet seven inches tall, slim upper body with slightly heavy thighs and legs; she carries herself well, Bill observed.

  Bill was not expecting an educated girl but was surprised at her intellect, especially since she worked as a cocktail waitress.

  “I called Uwani,” Silvia said after formal introductions.

  “Why?” Bill was visibly surprised.

  “Just to see if you really work there,” Silva replied.

  “What did they tell you?” Bill asked.

  “Ah, don’t worry, I just asked if Bill Stockton works there,” Silvia said.

  “They didn’t tell me you called,” Bill said.

  “No, because when she said, ‘May I ask who is calling,’ I told her it was nothing and hung up,” Silva replied.

  Smart girl, Bill thought. She left no trace.

  After picking up her two small lightweight suitcases from the baggage claim area, Bill pointed out his car in the short-stay parking area. “Here we are.”

  “That’s your car?” Silvia said in admiration of the maroon Lexus ES 300.

  “Yeah, that’s my car. You like it?” Bill asked, noticing the admiration.

  “I love it,” Silvia said.

  First man I’ve dated that drives a decent car, she thought.

  The drive to Whispering Oaks was rather quiet; a few conversations about East Chicago, Indiana, the Luckiest Luck Casino where she worked, and about Atlanta. She surprisingly confided to Bill that she did not tell anyone of her escapade to Atlanta, fearing that her coworkers might make fun of her.

  “I’m very shy and sensitive, but my one love is to roam the Web,” she confessed.

  Leaving the airport at about 12:30 A.M., they encountered few motorists on the road.

  Bill parked the car in the garage next to the Toyota Highlander.

  “You own that car, too?” Silvia asked.

  “Yeah, in case the Lexus breaks down,” Bill said.

  “The Lexus cars don’t break down, do they?” Silvia asked naïvely.

  “Sometimes they do,” Bill replied.

  Sitting in the comfortable cushioned leather love seat in the living room, Silvia was really impressed with the house decor.

  “Tell me something about you,” Bill said.

  “Well, I attended Indiana University Northwest in Gary, Indiana, for three years, then my parents got divorced and my dad refused to pay for my tuition anymore. I had to leave school and work to make enough money to go back to college. A cocktail waitress, especially at the casino, can make a decent wage, you know, and I think after one more year, I’ll have enough money to complete college.”

  “That’s admirable,” Bill said. “Do you have relatives, friends, roommates, or a boyfriend?”

  He is really inquisitive, Silvia thought.

  “Relax; like I said, no one knows I’m here. I live alone in a one-bedroom apartment in Hammond, Indiana. I work all day. I’ve been on only four Internet dates before. I didn’t care for them. My sister and I don’t get along. She lives in Minnesota. The last time I talked to my parents was a year ago.”

  “You really are a loner,” Bill said.

  “Yeah, you can say that,” Silvia replied.

  Perfect, thought Bill.

  “I’m a loner, too. I’m an only son. I was born in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, went to school at Clark University here in Atlanta, and got a job here working for Uwani,” Bill said. “Do you want something to drink?” Bill offered, not wanting to say more.

  “What do you have? I need something to relax me.”

  “You name it,” Bill said.

  “Hennessy V.S.O.P., with orange juice,” Silvia said.

  “It will only take a minute.” Bill rose from the couch, bowed his head, and then disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Why did you pierce your tongue?” Bill asked from the kitchen.

  “Some guys like it like that. I think it’s cute,” Silvia replied.

  “Oh I don’t know … it may hurt,” Bill said.

  “I’ll take it off then.”

  Silvia unhooked the silver metallic ring that was pierced through her tongue.

  “Better now?” Silvia asked, sticking out her tongue.

  “That’s much better.” Bill gave Silvia his half smile.

  That’s an odd way to smile, thought Silvia as she sipped the Hennessy. She noticed that the drink mix tasted a little bitter. “Mmmm … that’s different,” Silvia said, wiping her lower lip.

  “I added a little tonic to bring out the flavor,” Bill said, intently watching Silvia.

  “Yeah,” Silvia said, not wanting to appear like an alcohol novice.

  Noticing Silvia’s eyes closing, Bill went over to the stereo system, pushed a button, and slow jazz music filled the room. This was the moment Bill had prepared for.

  5

  AT WORK, BILL WAS happy to hear that yesterday’s sales figures had pushed Uwani Microsystems’ net worth to nearly the one billion dollar mark, and that helped push Uwani Microsystems’ stock to $63 per share.

  The systems analyst departments were very thrilled. In reciprocation, George asked Bill if he could entertain a party in his house. Taken aback a little, Bill unwillingly agreed.

  “I guess that’s okay,” Bill said. “I hope folks don’t mind goat meat and lamb chops.”

  “I am sure that’ll be fine,” George said. “For once we get to taste the cooking that you’ve been bragging about. Next Saturday, okay?” George asked.

  “Saturday would be great,” Bill said.

  * * *

  It took almost two years for the national media to tie together the cases of the vanishing women, as the crimes are now being called. Initially listed as missing persons, each case somehow reached a dead end in Atlanta. With no new leads, most of the cases were filed away. When a young, ambitious, would-not-take-no-for-an-answer investigative reporter from Channel 5 in Chicago tried to review the files of the missing women, he noticed a pattern.

  They were in their thirties, living alone, some with college education.

  “Two of the missing women had told friends that they were going to Atlanta for a date,” the reporter said to his station manager. “But when the police in Atlanta were alerted, they denied finding out-of-state dead females. They claimed that most of the victims in Atlanta were identified as local, except one forty-five-year-old female whose body was so mutilated and stripped of all IDs that police are still trying through dental records to identify the body.”

  When the composite report made national news, the Federal Bureau of Investigation finally took over the cases.

  After thoroughly investigating all the cases, the FBI finally took a special interest in Uwani Microsystems. Arriving in Atlanta and briefing George on the investigation, the FBI wanted to talk to Bill.

  Detailed analysis of Silvia’s Internet chats failed to identify who she had had her last conversation with. But with the help of the local phone company, the FBI discovered that Silvia did place a call to Uwani Microsystems in Atlanta the last day she was seen at work.

  The FBI privately interviewed all the phone operators at Uwani Microsystems who worked on the day when Silvia called. It was getting late in the day; Bill was notified by George that the FBI would like to schedule an interview with him first thing tomorrow morning at eight o’clock sharp.

  “What’s it about?” Bill asked with his usual smile.

  “I don’t know, but my hunch tells me that it might have something to do with those missing girls,” George confided.

  “Do they think somebody here has something to do with that?” Bill’s half smile disappeared.

  “Don’t worry about it,” George said. “I think they’re looking in the
wrong place.”

  “Thanks,” Bill said.

  “Don’t forget, eight a.m.,” George said on his way out of Bill’s office.

  Next morning, Bill did not show up for his interview with the FBI.

  By 8:10 A.M., local police in conjunction with federal marshals were dispatched to Bill’s house.

  After several knocks at the door failed to illicit any response from within, they busted the door open.

  Bill was found sitting in the basement shower, cold as ice, a sawed-off shotgun on his lap. There was blood mixed with whitish pasty material all over the bathroom wall, and Bill’s face was totally unrecognizable from the bullet wound.

  6

  IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL hot and muggy autumn evening in Cicero, Illinois. The sun was a little rusty in all its background shadows, unsure whether to rise or set, even though the time on the First Suburban National Bank building showed exactly six o’clock in the evening. In Cicero, the southeastern section was a gorgeous neighborhood, especially toward the end of summer.

  There were cars parked on both sides of the narrow streets in this middle- to higher-income section of town. At Eighty-seventh Street near Kedzie Road, a child, trying to cross the street, caught Joanne’s eye. Joanne couldn’t understand why this little, happy-looking three- to four-year-old boy was trying to navigate the street alone.

  “Where are the parents?” Joanne asked herself.

  Where is this boy going?

  Who is he playing with?

  The child skipped and hopped, periodically looking between the cars, while singing an inaudible song.

  Joanne saw no one around. The street appeared deserted. In the distance, Joanne saw a silhouette, and within seconds, heard the humming of an oncoming vehicle.

  The car must have been traveling at quite an excessive speed, because the acceleration was getting louder and louder.

  The child apparently did not hear the car, Joanne surmised, because just as Joanne determined the make of the vehicle, the boy veered between the red Ford Escort and the blue Nissan Pathfinder parked some distance south of the junction of Eighty-seventh Street and Kedzie Road. Joanne immediately knew what was about to happen.

  She screamed at the top of her lungs, “Hey, kid! There’s a car coming. Don’t cross the road yet.”