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dripping down the side of his face, still fuming from the call and boiling on the inside. He sat back at the conference table and began to lay out the plan.
    By late evening Vector #187 had been initiated.

5 | Handicapped Seating
    Mike Shams revisited the painful text message dozens of times. He read, re-read, watched the video, and watched again. It just didn’t make any sense.
    Why would they take my son? What do they want? He thought.
    He was afraid to tell his family. He didn’t know what to say. He had no answers for the hundreds of questions that would follow. Sunday dinners were when everyone got together, all his kids and their respective loved ones. That Sunday dinner would be the hardest in his life. He so much wanted to confide in his wife, Parisa. She was his rock. She always held steadfast and gave him the strength he needed. The news of Bobby would crush her. This was her little boy. He had to keep quiet and look as normal as possible. At least until he had more answers, knowing full well the calls from Iran were going to pour in over the next day or two, with people asking about Bobby’s whereabouts.
    Parisa served dinner on time, a typical Persian fare, a nicely mounded platter of dill rice with fava beans, a side of chicken in tomato sauce, a selection of torshi , a Persian relish, along with a side of raw onions cut up into chunks, fresh greens and toasted pita breads. Bottles of Dutcher Crossing and Diamond Creek wines sat at each end of the table. With the table fully set, she called everyone to dinner.
    Mike sat through dinner barely eating a thing, deep in thought. He smiled occasionally, nodding his head to comments and answering questions. When asked what was wrong, he merely brought up client issues. Soon enough, dinner was over, with everyone scattering around the house for after dinner activities. Mike could not take the pain of keeping it all in. He excused himself and went back to his office. He once again opened the text message, but this time he followed the link not wanting to watch the video.
    The link took him to a page that instructed him on how to install several specific apps on his cellphone, including further instruction, and a second link to follow, once the apps downloaded. The apps allowed anonymous access to the web, messaging and email, without monitoring risks or interception by third parties or governments. It was an application and network infrastructure used by legitimate safety conscious users, and the seedy underground to keep themselves and their actions completely anonymous. Mike installed the apps and worked his way to the URL link with an .onion host suffix, which he had never seen or even knew existed. He knew of .com , .net , and other dot-something endings, but an onion was new to him. He clicked on the link, which brought him to a new page with more instructions.
    The page had only one detailed order, topped with an ominous warning. The order, simply stated, was to replace all the handicap seating at the Denver Super Dome. It was the first stadium built by Mike’s company. The designs for new seats were included as an attachment, which he downloaded. The instruction then continued, he should manufacture all seats by a certain date, then store them at his company warehouses between two given dates, and finally install them by a certain final date. All dates and locations were specific and prescribed. They would handle all permits and paperwork. The whole thing sounded stranger by the minute.
    Handicapped Seating, Why? Mike thought, pounding his own head with both fists.
    He printed the seat designs sent by the kidnappers. He then began looking through his file cabinets for the original stadium plans. Finding the CD in one of the folders, he popped it into his computer, and began looking at the blueprints. He jotted down some notes as he kept looking through the CD. He found the final and signed Disabled Access Advisory Committee (DAAC) plans, reading those he took