***
A few hours later, I had only learned a few things. First, the estimate request didn’t have a fixed date attached, which meant that the buyer wanted to know Blackstone’s capabilities, but didn’t have the plans in place yet. That was good; it meant that whatever was going to happen might be preventable. Second, I learned that I was never going to uncover the identity of the person or group who was going to do this on my own.
The email address used was relatively anonymous, hidden by virtue of being freely available to anyone. I didn’t know enough about cyber… things? Cyber security? Whatever you call it, I didn’t know enough about it to track it down without help.
So I called a friend. Max wasn’t the most stable person on the planet, but he owed me one, and he was way better with this kind of thing than I was. He’d either be able to tell me something, or would be able to put me in touch with someone who could.
“What do you want?” his watery voice demanded when he picked up.
“Hello, Max,” I said calmly. Half of Max’s personality was bluster.
“Rick,” he acknowledged.
“Max, I need your help with something.”
I heard a soft groan. “Rick… the kind of things you get mixed up in, I’d rather not be anywhere near.”
“Max,” I cautioned.
“Don’t give me the sales pitch, kid. I know all the moves already. You can’t just—“
“Max, you owe me one. Istanbul,” I reminded him.
He was silent for a few moments. “Istanbul,” he growled. I let him remember what had taken place that night, and the scars across his chest he had acquired there.
“Fine,” he finally said. “What do you need? It’ll be a few days before I can meet you in the field.”
“I don’t need anything like that. I just need you to track an email address for me.”
He grunted in surprise. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. I need to know who sent it, or at least where it was sent from. Can you manage it?”
“Depends. Do you have the address?”
“Better. I have archived message files.”
“Good. Send them to me.”
I considered for a moment how much Max should know. He’d be in danger if it got out that he had done this. Hell, I was in danger for reading it.
But he’d be able to do the job faster if he was given the whole file.
“Max,” I said after a few seconds. “I’ll send you the files, but trust me on this one: don’t read them.”
He snorted. “I’m not interested in getting mixed up with anything that’s got your panties in a twist. Just send the damn files.” He hung up on me.