Fake: The Scarab Beetle Series: #3 (The Academy) (9 page)

I turned around, scouting the area. We were shadowed by the staircase, and there weren't any front lights on. I angled to keep myself between his light and any neighbors that might be snooping.

Breaking and entering was worse than getting caught pickpocketing. I was on edge, waiting for an alarm. I turned, trying to look the other way when Marc materialized in front of my face, closer than he’d been before. My heart leapt.

“Ugh,” I whispered. “You scared the sh—”

“Shh,” he said.

“Come on,” Axel whispered.

I turned, and Axel had the door open. He was holding it and gesturing I should enter. He was going to play courteous Southern gentleman now? I smothered a groan and walked in. Maybe he wanted me to get shot first if the widow got spooked and came down with a loaded gun.

The garage was wider than I thought with two cars parked on either side, one was a minivan. Yup. Family. There were kids. Shit.

“We can’t be here,” I whispered. I wasn’t going to spook some mom when her husband just died and with kids here.

Axel moved forward, close enough that his chest pressed against my back. His hand slipped over my mouth, covering it.

His breath fell against my ear. “Listen,” he whispered. “We’re going to get some information and slip out again, but I can’t do it if you’re talking. I need you as quiet as possible. Please.” He wasn’t fooling any more. He was begging.

I nodded against the hand pressed against my mouth. When he released me, he moved to the lead. I looked behind us. Marc was at the door, holding it open, keeping an eye on the street and the neighborhood, being a lookout.

There were boxes stacked together on shelving near the back. Trash bins were against the wall. There was old workout equipment in the corner. The cars were newer models, the inside of the minivan was spotless but there was a car seat. There were a couple of bicycles, one with training wheels, and a tricycle.

Axel tucked his head around the other car, a smaller SUV. He tried the handle, no luck: it was locked. He was lucky the alarm wasn’t set to super sensitive.

He was so quiet, he could have been floating. He went over to the boxes, examining the different ones. He pointed to me, and then pointed to the trash cans.

I shook my head. No way was I digging through trash.

He pointed again, more insistent this time and I scowled. Kayli Winchester went from pickpocket to trash diving. Not exactly a promotion.

The trash bins were big, blue, and there was a recycling bin next to it. I tried the recycling first, old cans, newspapers, glass wine bottles…a lot of them. Poor lady. Her husband was dead. Couldn’t blame her. For that reason, though, I had to leave the recycle bin alone. The cans and bottles made it impossible to move much around without them clanging against each other.

The blue bins held black trash bags. I gazed in at them, trying to figure out the contents just by looking at the outside. What was I supposed to do with these?

I glanced back at Axel, he pulled a box down, opened it and examined the contents. He closed it again, pulled another down and then opened that one.

I groaned. He was making noise. I listened, not hearing anything coming from the house, but not trusting my ears. Kids were a problem. They wake up easily. They move quietly and could spot us and alert their mom. 

Taking too long would get us caught. I ripped open the trash bag on top, examining. This one was filled with typical kitchen garbage, the second one had a collection of smaller, transparent bags. If I had a home office, I’d have those clear small trash bags in my trash bin. This was probably a winner. I lifted the entire thing out and closed the bin again. They weren’t going to miss it. Job done.

I started back between the two cars. I meant to wait on Axel since he was opening boxes still, trying to figure out which one he wanted to take.

Marc turned his head when I got close, his mismatched eyes focusing on me. He glanced at the trash bag, seemed a little confused but then redirected his attention to my face and held. A stern frown and a wrinkle between his eyebrows told me so many things, none of them good.

I stared back, narrowing my eyes, trying to relay how I hated this silence and dared him to say something right here. Want to stare me down like that? I’d send us all to jail just to knock that look off his face.

At the same time, my heart was cracking badly. His look made me not care about dying by the Germans. It’d save me the heartache.

Maybe he was upset because it was Brandon and I who were kidnapped, which meant we were sleeping in the same bed. Maybe he finally made that connection. Even if I hadn’t initially thought it was Brandon, maybe he thought...

This was the problem with dancing between different guys trying to make a decision. The growing paranoia made every look appear to have a suspicious glint. Still, I couldn’t shake that something was wrong with Marc. He knew something and couldn’t tell me about it now.

Axel found two boxes he wanted and then hurried back between the cars toward the door. He took one look at the bag in my hands, cocked an eyebrow, shrugged and then nudged me out.

I followed him and Marc back to the abandoned house. This time, Marc opened the back door. He took my trash bag and stuffed it into the back. Axel dropped his findings into the back and got in to drive. Marc directed me to sit beside him in the back seat, with the stuff between us. Axel started up the car and we were off. We were quiet until we left the cul-de-sac and on the road again.

“Boxes first,” Marc said. “Probably more important if they kept it.”

I took one of the boxes and started sifting through it. It was tax records, over five years old. How long were you supposed to hang on to these? Apparently Mr. Jones made just over thirty five thousand dollars that year, and owned a small vacation house in Florida. He had retirement accounts in 401Ks, a few million dollars in various funds. That may or may not have increased over the last couple of years.

I scratched a fingernail over my eyebrow, looking at the paperwork. Maybe it was my criminal intuition talking, but this made absolutely no sense at all. He was no different than any of the other people on this street, with nothing noteworthy. He had money, sure. Apparently he had an office in town and owned several rental properties. Vacation rentals. Business hadn’t been booming the last few years, but he was in the black.

But his money was inside bank accounts and 401ks. Secured. Even if Corey could hack this account, why would the German go after this one and not someone who had even more money? If he owned the core, how was it his accounts seemed so average? How valuable could this core be?

“What’s Murdock’s Core?” I asked quietly. I was still nervous since we were still in the neighborhood, as if someone could hear us. “What are we looking for? Tell me what that is? I mean, Corey kind of figured it out, but explain it to me.” I knew the answer, but I thought someone else spelling it out would help clear up what I was thinking. Technically, cell phone signals come from towers, but how would an illegal cell phone network operate?

“Sounds like there’s an underground communication network,” Marc said. He was using his cell phone as a light in one hand and thumbed through files in the box.

“Like in the sewers?” I asked, scrunching my nose and making a dumb face.

“An underground cell service.”

I stared at him blankly, waiting for him to explain the details because that totally wasn’t helpful.

He only took a moment to notice I was staring and caught my eyes. “You do know what a cell phone is, right?”

“Maybe,” I said in a sarcastic tone.

He made a face, sticking his tongue out at me. “Where have you been living?” he asked, matching my tone.

“I was living under a rock,” I said flatly. “Humor me. Pretend I don’t know anything about how cell phones work. Let’s pretend I’m an evil mastermind and wanted to create an underground cell phone service. Tell me what you’d need to run one.”

He sighed, stuffing folders back into the box and leaning back. “Cell phone towers are built to not only keep you communicating, but also to keep track of you. So there’s signals flying through the air constantly. It’s not just cell phones out there though. There’s radio waves, satellite signals, wireless internet connections. The thing is, if it’s traveling through the air, it can be caught. Like picking up a radio signal by dialing into the right frequency.”

“So if you have a cell phone, someone else can be listening. I figured. So how does this illegal one work?”

“I’m having to guess,” Marc said. “What I figure is this works on a completely different frequency, or a deceptive frequency. This core keeps it all in line. But that means it should operate on completely separate towers, or operates on corporate-owned towers. The only trick is, if it is connected to corporate towers, it’s more likely to get caught.”

“Okay, say I wanted to be completely anonymous. I’d need my own cell phone towers and this core to operate everything. How does the cell phone know not to connect to the corporate towers? And how do they keep others from picking up these open air signals?”

“Every cell phone throws out a signal, looking for an ID number, cell phone towers throw back an ID number and if they match, the phone will make calls. It also can track where your cell phone is. The government can easily keep an eye on you this way. An illegal cell phone…maybe if it’s in a different frequency, those cell towers don’t know to pick it up?” Marc looked to Axel. “I’m talking out of my ass. I don’t know how it would work.”

“The point is,” Axel said. “Corporations in this country are required to keep cell phone records for up to two years and the FCC is supposed to know about any communication system going on within the borders. It prevents terrorist activity from happening. They monitor for suspicious activity.”

I raised eyebrows. “Like how you guys can track bad guys and keep an eye on people. Like we’re not supposed to.”

“When does anyone do anything they’re supposed to?” Marc asked. “The government requires all cell phone services to keep tabs of your location, calls, text messages, everything. We don’t monitor individual cell phones. We look for unusual activity and then investigate in person to figure out what’s going on. And usually we’re only focused on family, or things that seem really odd, like with Coaltar. That’s how we trace people. Encrypted, invisible cell phone signals that the government doesn’t know about is something a whole lot more dangerous.” He shrugged. “I mean, I could be wrong. There could be reasons for keeping your phone service underground. Some people are just paranoid and don’t want any government access. That’s going to be the problem. Sparing people who maybe were just that paranoid and aren’t doing anything illegal.”

I scratched absently at my eyebrow. As a thief, it was hard for me to consider anyone listening in on my phone calls. I couldn’t imagine normal people simply being okay with this, but then if you didn’t have anything to hide, you didn’t have much to worry about. I guess if I didn’t like it, I’d not use a cell phone.

I also knew if people like in the Academy could listen in on cell phones, others could, too. Some of them might be like these German guys who discovered an even more secret cell phone service. What would they do with it if they had access? “So is this core worth money?”

“The core is the data in the system,” Axel said. He focused on the road as he talked. “It’s all the data cell phone services normally keep, but they don’t distribute it to governments or anyone who asks. Or maybe they completely delete it after sending out the signals. Some gang trying to get their hands on it probably means they want to access the information. Either they want the list of names using the service, or they want the service to run and try to capture information on these people. If people want to be anonymous, those secret phone calls probably have to do with money and crime. Whatever it is, this gang is willing to threaten lives for it. This Mr. Jones may have already been a victim.”

“How do you steal it?” I asked. “I mean, they’d need to access the core long enough that Corey could find a way to break in. But then what?”

Axel sighed. “Imagine if you had even a minute of all the activity on cell phones throughout the city. How many passwords and access codes to bank accounts could you pick up? If you could listen quietly to cell phones, you technically have a key to thousands of passwords when people call their banks and so forth. Then they wait and use those passcodes to steal what’s in those accounts.”

That made sense. That was still a lot of information to go through. There had to be millions of calls made throughout the day. For an elite and secret cell phone service, it’d narrow down the list to those with disposable cash. “So they only need to access this core for a minute. They don’t really need to take it.”

“For as long as they could get away with,” Axel said. He turned his head, looking at me. “They either need access to the core directly, or they need access to the proper signals, pulling them out of the air, and then they can try to decode it as it flows. Apparently Corey wrote the code they can’t break through. Corey could probably give us more information on which would be the most likely way they’d approach it. I imagine gaining access to the core would be better…or rather, more profitable. Catching signals in the air limits the data. The core is where all the data flows.” He refocused on the road. “I mean, if I were going to steal this information, I’d prefer the core.”