No Woman Left Behind by Julie Moffett Page B

feet. His face and extremities showed early signs of discoloration and decay, but the rest of the body looked intact.
    “Before the Resurrection,” Slash murmured.
    We all stared at it for another minute and then the light flicked back on.
    “We will continue to collect data on the painting and the artist,” Mark said. “We are also analyzing the remaining visual clues, the chair, ropes, the clothing of both men and every piece of data that becomes visible at one point or the other in the video.”
    I made a few notes and then looked up. “What about the audio? Did you use digital signal processing, adaptive filtering and discrete Fourier transforms to isolate and separate sounds?”
    Mark looked surprised by my cyber forensics knowledge. “Ah, yes, we did. We’re still gathering data, but we haven’t found anything significant on that front yet. But I’m not sure further analysis will be necessary.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because we think we already know where Broodryk is located.”
    “What?”
    “Here.” Slash pushed a piece of paper at me. “Broodryk took the video with his cell phone and a tripod. He left the GPS on. We’ve tracked his location.”
    My mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be kidding. Broodryk left the GPS on his cell on?”
    “Apparently so. These coordinates put him squarely in Kenya.”

Chapter Thirteen
    My mind raced, trying to determine the significance of the location. “Kenya? We have a lock on his location? That’s way too easy.”
    Slash shrugged. I could see he wasn’t convinced either, but Mark was running with it.
    “That’s not to say there isn’t a problem with the coordinates. We entered them into our system. While the location is definitely in Kenya, a closer examination via Google Earth indicates there is no city, town, village or permanent structure within thirty miles. It’s the middle of nowhere. However, we have a satellite passing over in exactly thirty-one minutes, so we intend to get a closer, real-time view of the area.”
    I considered the information. “Clearly, the video was either shot from a temporary location that was set up and taken down, or Broodryk spoofed the GPS system somehow. But why? What would be the purpose?”
    The FBI cybercrimes agent who had briefed me after my first encounter with Broodryk spoke up. “It’s got to be a clue if he didn’t leave it on by accident. It seems unlikely someone of his ability would forget something like that.”
    I was in full agreement. “I don’t buy that he left the GPS on by accident. It was for a reason. But why, I’m not sure yet.”
    I glanced down at my notes. “So, we’ve got forty-eight hours and a plethora of clues—an obscure German painting, a geographically desolate location in Africa, and four minutes and thirty-two seconds of a video conversation that might hold more information than is readily observable. That’s a lot of ground to cover. He wants me to fail, yet I think he’s genuinely excited by the prospect I might succeed.”
    Slash growled and I glanced sideways at him.
    “Well, what do
you
suggest we do next, Ms. Carmichael?” Woodward asked. “Since no one knows him like you do.”
    I drew a line between several of the little boxes I had drawn on my paper. “First, I think the forensics team should continue to focus on the audio. Run the gamut of techniques, both forward and backward, and see if there are any abnormalities. Isolate any unusual sounds. Not sure if we’ll find anything, but we have to check.”
    Several people scribbled notes as I continued. “Next, we need a closer look at those GPS coordinates. Get your best crypt heads on it. If the location ends up a dead end, we have to consider the possibility it’s a code. Broodryk likely knows I have a background in cryptology, so we need to play that angle.”
    I rubbed my temples, wishing the tension away. “We also need a dedicated team of analysts on the painting. Where does the painting hang now? What is