Detour

by Kurtz, Sylvie

  I should have stuck to my guns and gone in alone. “I shouldn’t have asked you to help me steal the chip.”

  “Proving Sofia’s claim that there’s something wrong with the HART is important, not just for you and me, but for all the people who depend on it to protect them.” Wyatt finished his beer and his gaze went to the canvas tote. “The shit’s going to hit the fan soon. Cops are going to be crawling all over the place. We’ve got to lose the chip. Fast.”

  “I’ve got it covered.”

  Wyatt nudged me. “There’s John.”

  I emptied the contents of the canvas bag into the plastic bag that had come with Wyatt’s T-shirt and followed Wyatt out of the bar. Once outside, I dumped my canvas bag in the trash. Wyatt switched places with his ranch hand and exchanged keys while I slid into the passenger’s side.

  Wyatt crammed John’s cowboy hat on his head, then reached back for a horse blanket and threw it over me. “Stay down.”

  “Germs!” I squeaked.

  “It’s clean.”

  It did smell of detergent, so I relaxed and hunched down like a passenger in an airplane emergency drill. “If you see a post office, stop.”

  While I was bent over, I dug through the plastic bag for a padded envelope I’d packed, slipped in the card Wyatt had stolen and scribbled A.J.’s address on the front. “We’ll stuff this in an overnight envelope. The sooner we get results, the sooner we can put all this behind us.”

  Chapter 14

  Friday, April 28

  I’d half expected the police or FBI or some sort of law enforcement to show up at the ranch and drag Wyatt and me off in handcuffs. But no one had knocked on the door, and the news had carried nothing on the theft at the convention center. I couldn’t sit still, so I paced Wyatt’s office, wearing a path into the nap of his carpet and glancing out the window to the ring.

  After the rush of adrenaline had died down, reality had hit Wyatt hard and he’d become tense and anxious about what the test results would reveal. No doubt wondering if he’d risked his freedom for nothing. At least he was out riding his favorite stallion now. Maybe he’d get rid of some of his built-up stress. I needed to run and let out a little steam myself.

  With a growl, I plunked into Wyatt’s brown leather chair and stared at the screen saver on my open laptop on his desk as it flowed through a series of images of space taken from the Hubble telescope. I liked the photos because they reminded me of the vastness of the world and my own insignificant part in it. Van might believe I thought the world revolved around me but I’d known since I was a kid that it didn’t. Today the photos of faraway nebulas brought another musing, one that went beyond this world.

  If Sofia was real, then there was a certain comfort in knowing that even when the body died, part of one survived. “What’s it like where you are, Sofia?”

  Gray. Cold. Lonely.

  Pretty much what I’d experienced when she’d taken over my body. Come to think of it, pretty much my life since the transplant. Fear had shackled me much more than I’d thought. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Sofia. “What about the light you always hear about? Angels? God?”

  I haven’t seen any of them yet.

  “Maybe you will once you can let go of your ties to what you left behind.” Strange as it sounded, I wanted her to find peace as much as I wanted it for myself.

  I’m scared.

  “New things are always scary.” Like death. A year ago the thought that the transplant team was going to cut my heart out of me, that my chest was going to be empty, that I was going to die before they could bring me back to life with a stranger’s heart beating inside me had scared me more than I’d admitted to anyone.

  At least you got a second chance to live.

  “Yes, I did, and I thank you for your generosity.”

  A mental shrug. You’re not so bad.

  “That’s something, I suppose.” As much of a pain as Sofia was, she was also starting to grow on me. Maybe it was her loyalty—a trait I’d always admired. Maybe it was the purity of her love for Wyatt—something I’d thought I’d had with Leo. Maybe it was her gentleness of spirit—something I could use a little of to smooth out the rough edges.

  All this waiting was driving me nuts. With a swipe of my finger on the touchpad, I cleared the screen saver and checked on my neglected messages. Maybe A.J. had decided to e-mail me his results even though I’d asked for a phone call.

  How long before you hear from your lab rat? Sofia asked.

  “I don’t know. Soon, I hope.”

  What if he finds nothing?

  “Then maybe there’s nothing wrong and you whipped yourself up into a lather for nothing.”

  I saw something.

  “Then I’ll keep looking.”

  Shoot. Nothing in my in-box from A.J. But among the usual deluge of spam, I found a message with the financials I’d ordered—and forgotten about—on Paul Farr and Glenda McCall. I opened the file and my stomach sank in a free fall. “They look clean.”

  But Glenda’s final divorce decree was still pending, because of the custody dispute. Once the assets were split, things might not look so rosy. She’d made more than her husband. She’d most likely get stuck paying alimony and child support.

  And Glenda had expensive tastes. Something clicked. “The guy that cornered Glenda at the cutting show. Remember him?”

  Sofia’s shiver reverberated down my spine.

  “He threatened to take away what was most precious to her.”

  You can’t think he’ll hurt a child!

  “He didn’t strike me as the type who had a conscience.”

  But an innocent child?

  “Makes for a powerful motivator. Maybe he’s just toying with her. Maybe he’s serious. Either way, she can’t afford to call his bluff.”

  Glenda had probably gotten herself into this tight spot with no help, but sometimes people who found themselves cornered would take an out if they could find one. I’d give her a chance to redeem herself at the meeting Wyatt had set up with Paul. I reached for the phone.

  “Glenda McCall,” she answered.

  “Hi, Glenda. This is Sierra Martindale, Wyatt’s friend.”

  “What can I do for you?” Her voice was so tight it surely didn’t require any lip movement.

  I leaned back in Wyatt’s comfortable chair, and for a second his arms seemed to wrap around me. “It’s more what I can do for you. Meet me and Wyatt at The Watering Hole tonight at seven.”

  “I’d love to but I’m busy.”

  “I’d say it’d be to your advantage to stand up for yourself.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The HART. I have proof that Allied Defense—meaning you—swept less-than-desirable test results under the carpet in order to meet your target dates.”

  “What kind of proof?” Glenda asked.

  “Black-and-white. Paul’s going to be there.”

  A printer whirred in the background. “You’re bluffing.”

  “What if I’m not?” I asked. “Can you afford my exposing the data?”

  “I have more important things to deal with than a private detective who’s not licensed to work in Texas.” Glenda slammed down the phone.

  I smiled, pleased. She’d checked up on me. She knew I was effective. “She’ll be there. She won’t be able to stop herself.”

  At The Watering Hole, musicians were running through a sound check on the small stage. The lead singer’s voice boomed on mics that shrieked feedback. A guitar, bass and piano pumped out mismatched notes. Paul and Glenda sat at a table as far from the noise as they could, but we still ended up having to lean in, huddled like good friends, to hear each other.

  Paul cracked peanuts, discarding both shells and meats. Rings of sweat had formed on his black Allied Defense polo shirt. Glenda looked sharp, and much too crisp, in her navy Donna Karan suit. Attitude honed her cheekbones and pointy chin to a keen knife edge.

  “You’re late,”
Paul barked, his eyes invisible in the folds of his pasty face.

  Wyatt eyed Paul and Glenda with flat suspicion. “Last minute information.”

  I nudged his knee, reminding him we’d agreed I’d lead the show. I’d get this last bit done for Sofia and free him from his final obligation to her.

  “We put together something we knew you’d like.” I pulled up a file labeled Proof. “A PowerPoint presentation.”

  Fortunately, A.J. had called half an hour before Wyatt and I were due to leave, and our little presentation wasn’t a bluff. I set my laptop on the table and turned it around so both Paul and Glenda could have a good view. “Here we have the results of the analysis done on an integration chip from the HART. The reversed capacity tested fine on its own but failed at full power.”

  I let them follow the lines of data they would understand much better than I could. “Analysis points to mixed technologies causing random surges that in turn can cause false avionics readings. Something to do with a glitch due to asynchronous digital circuit design that nullifies something else in the COTS technology. The surge it emits causes the false reading. The randomness of the surge is what makes it look as if pilot error caused the planes to crash.”

  I moved on to the next slide. “This is one of the data sheets that disappeared from Sofia’s briefcase thirteen months ago.” The next slide showed a split screen. One side held Sofia’s data sheet; the other one the data generated by A.J. “Allied Defense knew about the malfunction thirteen months ago.”

  “This doesn’t prove anything.” Glenda’s shoulders were so square I could have set a level on them and had the bubble centered. “For all we know, you manufactured all this crap, because your dubious investigative skills have gotten you nowhere on your quixotic quest to find something wrong with the HART.” She drilled a finger into the tabletop, emphasizing each of her words. “There is nothing there.”

  “I never received this information about a random surge from the Integration Lab.” Paul tossed a handful of peanut shells to the floor.

  Wyatt braced his mug of beer as if it took all his will to keep himself from throwing it in Paul’s—or Glenda’s—face. “Sofia was killed to keep it underground.”

  “Now you’re reaching,” Glenda said, her voice clipped and precise. The sweat, the eye tic, the ripple of tension vibrating through her whole body gave her lie away. “Sofia’s accident was unfortunate, but it was an accident.”

  “The accident was deliberate.” I encroached into Glenda’s personal space. “That makes it murder. Now the question is—who is responsible for the delay in reporting the malfunction?” I cocked my head. “You?”

  Glenda’s mouth flattened to a thin bloodred line. She wasn’t about to admit anything but she wasn’t denying it, either.

  Paul shot Glenda a look I couldn’t interpret and drew the computer closer to him. “This data wasn’t something we had at all. On the other hand, stealth is the hottest development in aerospace technology. Our firm’s doing all it can to guard against industrial spies.”

  “Funny,” I said, “I remember suggesting industrial spying, oh, a week ago.”

  Glenda glared at me. “This one piece of information isn’t enough to hurt Allied Defense or to give anyone else enough to undermine the HART. And from what I can see, the numbers fall within the scope of acceptable norms.”

  Gaze glued to my computer, Paul shook his head. “If I’d seen this data, I’d never have let this project go forward unquestioned.”

  “What?” Glenda said. “You’re not seriously considering this woman’s claim at face value.”

  “Of course not. I’ll need to review and analyze the data.”

  Glenda scrapped her chair back. “I don’t have to sit here and have my ethics questioned.”

  “There’s more at stake than hurt feelings,” I said. “Who would most want this technology?”

  “It could be anyone,” Paul said. “The cold war’s over, but industrial espionage has become an extension of research and development for foreign powers. California recently had two cases of engineers being convicted of stealth espionage.” His mouth twisted as if he’d bitten into a bitter peanut and he grunted. “We’re always reminding our folds not to sit in a bar and brag about what they do. We can’t have people running their mouths off.”

  “Espionage paradise or not, that’s really none of my concern,” I said. “What concerns me is that the HART has a fault and that it’s killing the pilots who are depending on it to protect them.” I looked at Paul and Glenda in turn. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Paul blustered. “If there’s a mistake, I’m going to fix it.”

  Glenda pursed her lips. “You may have time to waste over this nonsense but I don’t.”

  “Sierra’s not asking for any secrets, Paul,” Wyatt said. “Who else is working on stealth technology?”

  “Could be the Russians,” Paul finally admitted. “They’re wanting to defeat this new technology. Then there’s the French. They’re working on something similar to the HART. They’re nowhere near as advanced as we are. They’re still in the prototype stage. We’ve got ours in service.”

  I sneered. “Right now that’s really not a point in your favor.”

  Paul pinned me with his slitted eyes. “I would never knowingly let a defective piece of equipment go out the door. Nor would I risk other people’s lives to advance my career.”

  Always the cool head, Wyatt said, “No one’s accusing you or Glenda of anything. We’re just trying to get to the truth. If Sofia was right, if there’s a fault, we need to know that you’ll stand up and make it right.”

  Paul’s face reddened with his outrage. “I’d do no less. If you don’t know that by now, then you’re not the friend I thought you were.”

  Glenda reached for her designer purse. “This is a waste of time.”

  I took two sets of printouts from my tote and gave one each to Paul and Glenda. “Don’t even think about getting rid of me the way you got rid of Sofia. The original report as well as a copy of the integration chip is in a safe place. Should something happen to me or Wyatt, it’ll appear in every major newspaper and television network, not to mention on the FBI director’s desk. Oh, and I should warn you that both your names also appear on that report.”

  “You.” Glenda shot up from her seat. “You’re the one who stole the card from the test stand at the trade show yesterday. I’m going to have you arrested.”

  “Yeah, we can share a cell.”

  Glenda’s nostrils flared and fluttered. She turned on her heel and clipped away.

  Paul’s gaze ping-ponged from Wyatt to me. “You stole the chip?”

  “Borrowed,” I insisted.

  More diplomatic than me, Wyatt said, “We had no choice. No one’s listening to our concerns. We need to hold the chip hostage until steps are taken to fix the fault. My sister flies the F-117. I’m not going to have a damn glitch kill her.”

  Paul slapped the report with the back of his hand. “Who analyzed the chip?”

  “A friend of my brother’s who runs an independent lab.” I pointed at the letterhead. “Call him. His number’s there.”

  Paul rolled the report like a baton. “I can assure you that if these figures are true, I’ll take steps to make the chip good, even if it costs us the contract.”

  Paul and Wyatt talked technical for a while, then lingered outside the bar behind the bottle-green beater car between their vehicles, saying their goodbyes.

  I leaned against the passenger’s side of Wyatt’s truck, waiting for him to unlock my door. The last flash of red sun sank into the horizon and disappeared. A scud of clouds, stirred by a breeze that cut the day’s heat, brushed away the stars.

  Out of habit my gaze roamed the area, taking in the people spilling out of the bar, the cars limping in and out of the parking lot, the buzz of traffic along the feeder road to the highway.

  A blue Plymouth sitting near the edge of the parking lot caught my eye. I w
ouldn’t have thought anything about it, except that the driver constantly scanned the street even though there wasn’t much traffic going by and he could easily have left the parking lot a half a dozen times by now. In silhouette like that, he had the look of a vulture looking for road kill.

  Behind him in the backseat, another black lump appeared in a vaguely human shape. It stared into the parking lot. When I followed its line of sight, my gaze fell on Paul and Wyatt. Paul lifted a hand and Wyatt turned toward me.

  The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. Adrenaline swamped my veins.

  My head whirled back toward the Plymouth. The car had started cruising out the exit, cutting off a red Honda. Yellow shine from a security light unmasked the man in the back. He lifted hands that were clutching something that looked like a transmitter for a radio-controlled car.

  Thoughts looped too fast to catch. My body twisted, racing toward Wyatt. “Bomb!”

  Chapter 15

  I grabbed Wyatt, who was rounding the back end of his truck to unlock my door, and lunged us toward the grass strip separating the parking lot from the street. Moving Wyatt was like trying to displace a brick wall, but I had momentum working for me. As the ground rushed up at us, Wyatt hooked my waist and rolled me over, shielding me with his body.

  Time stretched like a rubber band, slowing everything to frame-by-frame motion. Sounds bounced in pinball madness. And it seemed as if I was watching the whole scene unfold through a greasy window.

  Tires screeched as the Plymouth made a getaway.

  The bomb’s detonation lifted the beater car off the ground and rocked it to one side. As the tires hit the ground once again, the car rumbled and exploded into a thousand pieces, sending up a red ball of fire into the air and blasting bits of explosive, metal and glass all over the parking lot.

  The boom of the explosion sent Paul flying across the lot. Windows in the bar cracked, raining shards of glass onto the asphalt below. Black smoke billowed from the rooftop of the car, opened like a sardine can. Orange flames crackled and devoured the frame. The oppressive heat singed my skin. The caustic smoke smarted my eyes and stung my lungs. My head tolled in a full carillon of bells.