Page 133 of Code 6

“Basically: ‘Live it up, ’cause, hey, life goes away and doesn’t come back.’”

“That’s actually a decent translation,” said Diego.

Enrique had the cellphone number for Peel’s bodyguard, and Diego had used it to hack the phone’s microphone so that they could eavesdrop on Peel’s conversation with the kidnapper. Technologically, it wasn’t difficult to do, especially for a former DEA agent. Diego had busted many a drug dealer who didn’t realize that his phone simply had to be powered on, not in use, for hackers to use the microphone as a listening device.

“A lot of background noise,” said Kate.

“It’s a nightclub. I can’t help that,” said Diego.

“That’s why we still need eyes on the table,” said Enrique. “I’ll text you with updates.”

“Good luck,” said Kate.

Enrique got out, and the car pulled away. Diego hung a left at the traffic light, and they continued east, toward the luminous moon above the hilltop.

“That’s Siloé,” he said, indicating.

Glittering lights dotted the habitable portion of hillside, from streetlevel to an elevation of about one thousand feet. At the very top, jagged granite edges bathed in the moonlight.

“It’s actually beautiful at night.”

“Sí, at night.”

Kate noticed a strange glowing dot in the distance. It moved slowly up the hill, like a meteor light-years away from earth, seeming to divide Siloé in half.

“What’s that moving dot?” asked Kate.

“That’s the new gondola public transportation system,” he said, and then he hung a right. “The idea is that if people have transportation, they can get a job and build a better life. That’s the station right ahead.”

The car slowed, and Kate looked out the window as they passed the station at street level. About two dozen commuters were in line.

“They’re all women,” said Kate.

“Yeah, mostly housekeepers. The ‘have nots’ who serve the ‘haves.’ They work a twelve-hour shift, seven days a week, in Ciudad Jardín and other nice parts of Cali. Then it’s back to Siloé. The gondola gives them some hope of getting home to take care of their families without getting robbed.”

“Sad.”

“Yeah. It just amazes me, though.”

“What does?” Kate asked.

“What mothers will do for their children.”

Kate couldn’t have said it better, but her mind raced beyond the point of mere agreement.

I did it for Kate.

She glanced again at the women in line. Diego made another left turn, and as they continued down the street, heading straight toward the gondola rising toward the moon over the hilltop, Kate shook off the confusing thoughts of her mother’s death. She was instead thinking of Sandra Levy.

I did it for Megan.

Kate had at first dismissed Sandra’s words as a snarky commentabout her mother’s suicide note. Something else was afoot, and her father’s explanation of the scraping tool behind Naïveté II was bringing it all into focus.

The bottom line is that it’s a tool for outsiders to harvest data from platforms likeTikTok, Facebook, Instagram, and all the other places where users give up way more than they should.

It was well known that the “users” who gave up the most on social media were between the ages of thirteen and twenty—and female. Studies proved it. Facebook, TikTok, and the other platforms admitted as much. Self-esteem, self-confidence, and self-worth were down; anxiety, depression, and suicide were up. The victims were mostly girls—daughters with mothers who would do anything to protect them.

Kate reached for her phone and was about to call her father when it vibrated with a text message. It was from Enrique on the inside.

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