Page 81 of Savage Protector
Rome ignores the jibe. “So, we assume they’re making hardcore porn flicks in there, and they need to distribute their merchandise to punters to make any money. Given that it’s no longer the nineteenth century, it’s reasonable to assume they do that online. Some sort of streaming service.”
We all nod; it makes sense.
“So, they must have a Wi-Fi network, and a good one at that. What’s the betting that he’s hooked up to it?”
“Ah, right.” Tony beams at him. “We get in there, we can hack it, or Frankie can, and we can see what they’re up to.”
“Leave it with me.” Beck is off again.
He returns a short while later. The man on the door is nowhere to be seen.
“He’s trussed up around the back,” Beck explains. “Here’s the phone. Thank fuck for facial recognition, I’d no need to remove his thumbs.”
The device is still turned on, and Rome has no trouble altering the settings to transfer the security to him. He dials Frankie’s number.
“Hey?” The teen’s voice echoes round the SUV.
“Frankie, we need you to get into this phone,” Rome tells him. “Hack into whatever Wi-Fi connections are there and patch us all through.”
“Sure.”
“What details do you need?”
“None. Got it all. Give me a couple of minutes.” He hangs up.
It seems like just seconds before he is ringing back, this time on Rome’s number.
“What do you have for us?” Rome demands.
“Mainly lots of promo traffic. They’re selling something, they call it content, and they describe it as anything from hot to volcanic. Pricy, too. A few hundred quid and upwards. One thing that seems odd, it must be interactive in some way because for a minimum stake of a grand, you can buy editorial control, direct the action.”
“An auction?” Tony asks.
“Could be.”
“Can you continue to monitor the traffic and let us know when anything actually goes up for sale?”
“Sure. What am I looking for in particular?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
Rome ends the call, then turns to Tony. “What now, boss?”
Tony frowns. “We don’t know for sure that either Fred or Shahida is in there. What we do know is that these jokers are in the mucky film business, and I’m not at all sure we give a shit about that. It’s a living, I suppose, but is it of any interest to us?”
“Probably not,” I have to agree, “but Shahida and Fred are. I vote we get inside and check the place out, find out if they are here or not.”
“I’ve a better idea.” Rome grins. “Let’s just phone him and ask.” He holds up the stolen phone. “There’s a Freddie L in the speed dial. All we need is for our Frankie to trace wherever it’s picked up and we’ll know where he is.”
“It might be a different Freddie,” Beck advises.
“Yeah, but what’s the betting? Ring him, Rome.”
Tony’s instructions settle the matter, and after a quick call to Frankie to set up the trace, Rome hits the speed-dial button.
“He’s not answering,” I say after the first half dozen rings.
“Give him time, he’s probably busy.” The dial tone drones on.
