Captured (erotic) (#5, 101 Nights)

Chapter Seven: Alisha

One of George’s goons drives me to the port after the sunset prayers have ended. I’m pissed and anxious. I haven’t seen him all day. I don’t even know what the plan is.

I, ahem, quietly borrowed the tablet one of his guards had hanging out of a pocket and modified it to suit my needs.

I pull it out as we drive and watch the packet-sniffing program that’s sending streams of binary code across the screen. I turned the tablet into a wifi detecting monster capable of instantly accessing anything crossing the wifi networks within a kilometer of me. It’s called a pwn pad in hacker-lingo. I added a couple more flourishes to the program so it picks up radio frequencies and anything else around us that I could program it to detect. It took some doing without access to my normal software writing tools.

Another of my programs is running in the background, putting together enough of each wifi stream for me to see what’s being sent over the network. It’s been programmed to dump or ignore anything but what I’m looking for: government-grade, ciphered communications and a handful of other potential red flags that’ll tell me if Hasan’s using unencrypted internet or communications.

As we drive, I test it out. There are a ton of encrypted signals near the palace and again down Embassy Row, which indicates the programs are running smoothly. My goal is to identify what Hasan and his cronies are using in case something goes wrong tonight and we have to find them again.

Whatever happens, I won’t lose him again, once I have a single electronic tag, no matter how small. It’s impossible to move in our modern world without leaving some electronic trace. Hasan may be good at his spy shit, but I’m a certified genius when it comes to this Matrix shit.  

“Omigod, is that a McDonald’s?” I ask, focus lost as we pass the familiar golden arches. “I haven’t had French fries in forever. I don’t suppose we can stop?”

The goon doesn’t acknowledge me.

I roll my eyes. I love Nijalan food, but sometimes, especially before a dangerous rescue operation, you really just want greasy, salty French fries.

“And a cheeseburger,” I add under my breath. “Can’t take on bad guys without a cheeseburger.”

The pwn pad is working. I put it away and fidget, unable to contain my agitation any longer. I know what we’re doing is dangerous and important and probably a one-shot deal.

I wish George had taken the initiative to clue me in. After our emotional almost-fuck in the hallway, I have a feeling he’s avoiding me again, and I’m not sure what to think or do about it.

We reach the warehouses around the port right after nightfall has swept the sky clear of light. I whip out my tablet and navigate to the map with two locations listed: George’s, and mine thanks to the GPS tag in his left shoe. The driver taking us to the general vicinity of the area I’ve identified as being where Natalie is hidden. George is stationed nearby, in the wharf area.

My excitement rises, and I move to the window, my eyes going back and forth between the tablet and my surroundings.

“Ma’am, I’m taking you by the specified area.”

“Let’s do this!” I exclaim.

He offers a small smile. The driver is an Arab built like a tree trunk with a Southern accent. I know George is too much of a control freak not to choose his men carefully. I feel safe with him, and too eager to find Natalie to care if we don’t wait for George.

I lower the tablet the moment the map indicates we’re at the start of the nine square block area. Examining the buildings for the clue Natalie gave me, I resist the urge to tell the driver to slow down. There are cameras on every warehouse’s corner, so I know we have to identify the target without appearing suspicious. Names and logos of the companies that own the warehouses are scrawled across the sides of the otherwise plain buildings in Arabic and English. I don’t bother reading them, more interested in the company logos and occasional graffiti.