Joe Ledger by Jonathan Maberry

Burke would have no way of knowing who the AIC was, let alone have access to his home number.”
    “Did the handler get a call?”
    Church opened a folder and slid it across the table toward me. “These are the phone records for the handler, Dykstra. The top page is the direct line to Burke’s safe house. The next pages are Dykstra’s cell and home numbers. The previous call from Burke was the routine check-in last week. Nothing since then. Nothing from a pay phone or from any other line that Burke could have used.”
    “The handler’s cell….”
    “No,” said Church. “There is no identifiable incoming call on any line associated with the AIC or the handler that could have resulted in that message.”
    I frowned. “I don’t understand. If Burke left a message then there has to be a record.”
    Church said nothing. He selected a vanilla wafer from a plate of cookies which sat between us on the table. He nibbled off a piece and munched it thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving my face.
    I said, “Then someone got to the records. Altered them.”
    “Mm. Difficult, but possible.” 
    “Or…they have a way to erase their tracks, remove all traces of the call.”
    “Also possible, but….”
    “…even more difficult,” I finished.
    He said nothing. He didn’t have to. There were very few computer systems in the world capable of the kind of thorough hacking we were discussing; and even then there was only one computer that couldn’t be fooled by any of the others and that was MindReader. That was our computer. It was a freak among computers, designed to be a ghost, to intrude into any other system and then rewrite its memory so that there was absolutely no footprint. All other computers left a bit of a scar on the hard drive. Not MindReader. And Church guarded that system like a dragon. Not even the President had access to it without Church personally signing him in.
    “Okay,” I said, “could someone have gotten to the answering machine directly and recorded a message onto it from the AIC’s house?”
    “No. Dykstra uses a service provided by AT&T, and the messages are stored on their server. If the call was made from Dykstra’s home phone, there would be a record of that.”
    “And there isn’t.”
    “No.”
    I reached over and took an Oreo from the plate. I can’t come up with any good reason why a sane person would bother with vanilla wafers when the chocolaty goodness of Oreos was right there. It added to my growing suspicion that Church was a Vulcan.
    “Who’s looking for Burke?”
    “The FBI has been looking for him since nine this morning. Except for us, no one else is in the loop.”
    “Local law?”
    “They are definitely out of the loop. There have been some concerns about the police department, though admittedly that was under previous management. The current chief has no strikes against him, but otherwise he’s an unknown quantity. This matter was deemed too sensitive to be shared with him.”
    “Even now?”
    Church pursed his lips. “Only with direct supervision.”
    “Which doesn’t mean the FBI.”
    “No.” Church ate more of his cookie. “We’ve backtracked to a few hours before the call was left on Dykstra’s voicemail, and nothing. Burke has not used a credit card or made transactions of any kind under his own name. His car is still parked in his garage.”
    I sighed. “I’m not liking the spin on this one, Boss. Burke’s not a player. He might know in theory how to stay off the grid, but I can’t see him managing it without making a mistake. Not for this long, not without help.”
    “Doubtful. And there’s one more thing.”
    I waited, knowing that Church would save the kicker for last.
    “Burke’s clever. His whole life is built around creating plots that his readers won’t see coming. Apparently he’s used this same gift against his handler. We hacked the confidential reports between the handler and the AIC, and Burke’s gone missing four times