The Pact (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 17) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Jonas Saul
empty car. He glanced at his expression in the mirror and looked away to watch the road.
To access the E20, he changed lanes and headed out of the city. Work brought him to Copenhagen only a few times a month now, being able to do many of his parliamentary duties from his home in Skanderborg and his office in Aarhus, the second largest city in Denmark. From Copenhagen, it was at least a three-hour drive back to his house in Skanderborg. Three long hours to ponder where his daughter was.
Yesterday morning when they drove to Copenhagen together, Clara had told him she would take the train back to Skanderborg later that night. The trains in Denmark were efficient. Clara could take the train from Copenhagen and get off right in Skanderborg, then walk ten minutes to their house on the water by Skanderborg Lake. She was probably there now, reading in the living room by the fire as this spring hadn’t brought warm weather with it yet. Only rain. Too much rain.
Anton rationalized that his daughter’s cell phone battery must’ve died. Nothing else made sense. Denmark was a safe country. They were rated the happiest people on Earth. What could go wrong?
Yet the pit in his stomach grew with each passing kilometer. No one had answered the house phone either. He was sure Clara wasn’t home and that something had happened to her. The nagging feeling scared him to the marrow.
Denmark did have its fair share of problems. Anton Olafson was the director of the Danish National Cyber Crime Center (NC3) which had only been established a couple of years ago. Olafson was transferred to NC3 six months ago to liaison with the Danish Data Protection Agency (DDPA) on a case where a hacker had published stolen information from the Danish Land Registry. Because the hacker made the stolen information public, the cybercrime unit deemed it a breach of intellectual property, which broke Danish data protection laws.
As director, Olafson’s job was to keep the agencies working together to come to a common ground—which they did. The hacker known only as PAIN was shut down. His IP addresses—several hundred of them from around the world—had been monitored closely to ascertain they were his, and then their access severed from Danish government servers.
After receiving praise from several government parties at different levels, Anton Olafson was appointed to a full-time position with the NC3 as director, and placed in the Aarhus office, which worked wonderfully for him as he lived in Skanderborg, a twenty-minute drive from Aarhus.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, rotating his hands around the thin wheel.
Where could she be?
He shook his head and rubbed his face. Everything would be okay. Clara was an adult. What could possibly happen?
Olafson turned the heat down and slowed the wipers as the rain had abated south of the city. He would stop for coffee soon, then relax for the last couple of hours on the road. He would hear from Clara tonight or he would call the authorities. What would any other parent do?
In the middle of a lane change, his cell phone rang. He punched the answer button on the dash.
“Hello? Clara?”
Someone breathed into the phone.
“Hello?” Anton checked his mirrors and signaled to pull off the highway. On the shoulder, he slowed the Tesla quickly and turned on his four-way flashers.
“Hello?” he asked again, a worried, sinking feeling coming over him as he thought this call would be about his daughter. “Who is this?”
“Who I am is not important.” The voice was metallic. It reminded Anton of the kind in horror movies where the stranger covers the mouthpiece with an electronic device to mask his voice. “Why I’m calling is of the utmost importance, though.”
Anton checked his rearview mirror out of habit. He glanced to the right and stared out at a row of large white turbines in a field, their arms spinning slowly with
To access the E20, he changed lanes and headed out of the city. Work brought him to Copenhagen only a few times a month now, being able to do many of his parliamentary duties from his home in Skanderborg and his office in Aarhus, the second largest city in Denmark. From Copenhagen, it was at least a three-hour drive back to his house in Skanderborg. Three long hours to ponder where his daughter was.
Yesterday morning when they drove to Copenhagen together, Clara had told him she would take the train back to Skanderborg later that night. The trains in Denmark were efficient. Clara could take the train from Copenhagen and get off right in Skanderborg, then walk ten minutes to their house on the water by Skanderborg Lake. She was probably there now, reading in the living room by the fire as this spring hadn’t brought warm weather with it yet. Only rain. Too much rain.
Anton rationalized that his daughter’s cell phone battery must’ve died. Nothing else made sense. Denmark was a safe country. They were rated the happiest people on Earth. What could go wrong?
Yet the pit in his stomach grew with each passing kilometer. No one had answered the house phone either. He was sure Clara wasn’t home and that something had happened to her. The nagging feeling scared him to the marrow.
Denmark did have its fair share of problems. Anton Olafson was the director of the Danish National Cyber Crime Center (NC3) which had only been established a couple of years ago. Olafson was transferred to NC3 six months ago to liaison with the Danish Data Protection Agency (DDPA) on a case where a hacker had published stolen information from the Danish Land Registry. Because the hacker made the stolen information public, the cybercrime unit deemed it a breach of intellectual property, which broke Danish data protection laws.
As director, Olafson’s job was to keep the agencies working together to come to a common ground—which they did. The hacker known only as PAIN was shut down. His IP addresses—several hundred of them from around the world—had been monitored closely to ascertain they were his, and then their access severed from Danish government servers.
After receiving praise from several government parties at different levels, Anton Olafson was appointed to a full-time position with the NC3 as director, and placed in the Aarhus office, which worked wonderfully for him as he lived in Skanderborg, a twenty-minute drive from Aarhus.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, rotating his hands around the thin wheel.
Where could she be?
He shook his head and rubbed his face. Everything would be okay. Clara was an adult. What could possibly happen?
Olafson turned the heat down and slowed the wipers as the rain had abated south of the city. He would stop for coffee soon, then relax for the last couple of hours on the road. He would hear from Clara tonight or he would call the authorities. What would any other parent do?
In the middle of a lane change, his cell phone rang. He punched the answer button on the dash.
“Hello? Clara?”
Someone breathed into the phone.
“Hello?” Anton checked his mirrors and signaled to pull off the highway. On the shoulder, he slowed the Tesla quickly and turned on his four-way flashers.
“Hello?” he asked again, a worried, sinking feeling coming over him as he thought this call would be about his daughter. “Who is this?”
“Who I am is not important.” The voice was metallic. It reminded Anton of the kind in horror movies where the stranger covers the mouthpiece with an electronic device to mask his voice. “Why I’m calling is of the utmost importance, though.”
Anton checked his rearview mirror out of habit. He glanced to the right and stared out at a row of large white turbines in a field, their arms spinning slowly with
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