“What makes you so sure Georgia is even our state?” Bryn asked. “It’s obvious she’s able to put on and take off an accent pretty much at will.”
“My mentioning Georgia made her jumpy as an addict. She was very anxious to turn my attention to Texas. And we’ve got to commit to something. No time to second-guess,” Jake pointed out.
“That’s true. I’ll go see what I can shake out of the system. Probably won’t be a lot tonight.” Alice started to leave, then stopped. “I almost forgot. This came for you.” She handed a manila envelope to Bryn.
Bryn examined it “No postage. No messenger stamp. How did it come?”
Alice shrugged. “No clue. It just showed up in the interoffice mail basket.”
Bryn opened the clasp and flap and pulled out a newspaper clipping. Jake got up and leaned over her shoulder. It was a photograph, obviously taken at a funeral. The mourners hid the coffin but not the hearse parked to one side. The caption, if there had been one, was gone. The clipping was old and grainy; the faces no more than gray blurs against the paler blur of sky.
“Hold on, Alice. I think we just got our break.”
“Can we scan and enhance this?” Bryn tapped the photo. “There’s a plate on that hearse.”
Jake looked across the table at Matt and felt a guilty pang when he saw Matt rubbing his face. He was keeping the old boy up late. He looked at Sebastian. “Can you do it, Sebastian, so Matt can go home to his wife?”
Matt gave Jake his deadly look, the one that promised retribution later. “If our helpful informant is really being helpful. Any idea who sent this?”
Bryn and Jake exchanged quick looks. Jake, not about to tell his brother the lovesick hacker story, shrugged. Bryn did, too. Then they both had to endure a long and pointed examination from Matt before he finally said, “I see.”
Lucky for them, Sebastian was both good and fast. He soon had the photograph on his screen and a few keystrokes later, they had the plate number to the point they could read it. Sebastian hit ‘print.” When it was free of the machine, Bryn snatched it and went off with Alice to track it down.
Jake stayed by Sebastian. “Let’s see if you can clear up the faces a bit. I’d like to see if I recognize any of our mourners.”
* * * *
Peter Harding paced back and forth in front of Stern, wearing a track in the expensive carpet in his living room. He couldn’t seem to stop himself, even in the face of Stern’s barely concealed contempt.
“They’re digging into my past! I can feel it. What if—”
“There is no ‘what if.’ Peter Harding’s life is squeaky clean all the way to birth and back.”
“His past. What if they find someone who knew him before…” Harding didn’t finish the sentence. Even the walls seemed like his enemy tonight.
“You survived a top-secret military clearance investigation.” Stern sounded bored with the subject. He stalked to the liquor cabinet and poured Harding a stiff drink, shoving it into his hand, forcing him to stop and drink it. “Pull yourself together. We’ll do what we’ve always done. Deal with what happens as it happens. Do what we must to get what we want. Now—” He straightened Harding’s shirt collar, then his tie. “Don’t you have an alibi to take care of?”
Harding stared at him for a long moment before slowly nodding. “I’ll be with Audrey, when, if—”
Stern nodded. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”
TWELVE
“My, my.” Dewey turned as Phoebe came out the alley entrance in her black jump suit. “My, my.” He walked a circle around her. “I thought I’d seen everything you have to offer, but I can see I was so wrong.”
Phoebe looked him up, then down. “And I can see you overestimated what you have to offer.”
“Ouch. Guess I should have packed…socks.”
Phoebe chuckled, happy to feel her pre-Jake rhythm returning as they went into action. “The way these things fit, I don’t think it would have helped.”
How Phagan had gotten his hands on some CIA jump suits was anybody’s guess. The suits were, according to Dewey, obscenely high tech and known in spy circles as “chameleon,” because they were capable of merging with any dark background. The fabric was light as air, could warm or cool as needed, and was as flexible as—and fit like—skin. If they performed as billed, they’d even the odds with the heat sensors Harding had securing the perimeter around his building.
In addition to their satellite-link capable laptop, Phagan had also provided them with headsets that were not only night-vision capable, but also had tiny receivers that let them receive the signal from the laptop and display it on a tiny screen.
She and Dewey had spent the afternoon in VR, playing the game over and over until each move was as natural to them as breathing. They were as ready as they would ever be.
Taking it to reality was different, and more intense, Phoebe realized as Dewey drove the van to their sortie point. She used the time to pack all her identities but Pathphinder in a mental box, which she locked and tossed away the key to. If she survived the op, she could always pick the lock and figure out who she was going to be, though she was sure of one thing: “Polly” would be shed as quickly as possible.
Dewey parked the van under cover of trees a short distance from TelTech. They pulled on the hoods that attached to their jump suits, completely covering their heads. Eyeholes were all they needed, since the fabric was light enough to breathe through.
He unloaded their packs while Phoebe used the laptop and the “egg” she and Ollie had planted in the system to access TelTech’s security cameras.
Now she could see what the guards were seeing, and, thanks to a tiny camera Ollie had planted in the A/C duct in the security office to track the guards’ movements during her planning phase, she could also see the guards.
Once the headsets were activated, the same picture would be beamed to hers, which was also connected to a keypad, using tiny wires embedded in the jump suit. She strapped on the keypad, plugged it in, then put the headset on over the snug fitting hood and connected it, too.
With the keypad active, she could also capture, record and replay as needed. So not only could she see what she needed to, corridor by corridor, she could also control what the security guards saw as she and Dewey made their drive toward the RABBIT’s hole dug deep in the bowels of TelTech. It was all very cool.
She tested the controls, navigating her way through the various cameras, saving the hidden camera until last. “That’s some camera Ollie installed. I can practically see the dandruff on their heads.”
Dewey jumped out the back of the van, which had a local news station logo stenciled on both sides, grunting as he hefted his pack, constructed from the same material as their suits, onto his back. He looked at his watch. “Ready?”
Phoebe left the laptop running, it was their link to their egg—and hopped out after him. They locked up, activated the anti-theft system, and then began hiking through the woods that surrounded TelTech on three sides. Beyond the trees, TelTech and RABBIT waited, framed by mountains and a waning moon.
* * * *
Jake leaned against the wall next to the fax machine, watching as Kerry Anne Beauleigh’s police file emerged one slow page a time. The license plate in the newspaper photo had led to the Valdosta, Georgia funeral home that had handled her funeral. Jake had called and rousted the owner out of bed without compunction. Despite the intervening years, the man had been able to identify the family in the photo Jake faxed him. His information had led to a call to the local PD and to the pages printing so slowly Jake could read the sheets and hand them off to Bryn, then take a short nap while waiting for the next one to appear.
Jake stirred as a picture started to emerge. What looked like a girl in a school uniform, one of those one-shot, all-purpose pictures done at the beginning of the school year. The generic background framed the jaw line now coming into view, a jaw as familiar to him as his own, despite the short time he’d known Phoebe.
The nose was next, then finally her eyes, still shadowed, still sad.
Had she ever been happy? The sheet fell free of the machine. There was writing across the top. Nadine Beauleigh. 15. Went missing day of sister’s suicide.
Nadine? Nadine. Jake tried the name out in his head. It rubbed wrong, but he had no doubt this was Phoebe’s face, Phoebe’s past. Phoebe’s sorrow. Somewhere in the pile of pages was the key to the present, the why, the where and the who. He hunted through the sheets for the autopsy report and sat down to read it again.
* * * *
“Nervous?” Dewey’s voice was tinny inside the headset.
“No.” Phoebe didn’t look at him, because there was nothing to see. Their gear rendered them virtually invisible in the shadow cast by a ragged line of fir trees.
She wasn’t lying. Their night-vision goggles made reality more VR than VR. None of it seemed real. It was just another game in a long line of games. Or maybe choreographed dance was a better description.
There was no perimeter fence, but the building was well defended against intrusion. Even with Ollie’s inside information, TelTech had been Pathphinder’s most difficult challenge. The landscaping was both beautiful and functional. Each shrub and tree hid heat sensors or security cameras. Triggered heat sensors activated big lights and alarms. The camera images came up on the guard’s display on a random basis. Using their “egg,” Phoebe had programmed a more intrusion-friendly random into the sequence, and they’d soon know if their high tech suits worked. She’d also programmed in a warning if one of the guards decided to pull up the view from a particular camera.
Harding had lavished his greatest attention on interior security, with the most sophisticated of equipment protecting the laboratory where his RABBIT’s hole was. Thanks to Phagan, they had more than the chameleon suits. He’d also provided an impressive array of electronic assistance, all of which had performed perfectly in VR. Time to see if it all worked in the real world.
Inside the headset, a digital stopwatch fed them the time available for each part of their “dance.”
“Get ready…” she said, waiting for it to hit zero. Three…two…one… “Go!”
Dewey took point, with Phoebe on his six. They started across the sculpted lawn, using the shadows around shrubs and trees to mask their movements from any watchers. In her viewfinder, the guards showed no sign of alarm. The suits had muted their body heat. Soon the woods were behind them, the side of the building looming dark and high.
Still performing their dance in perfect synchronization, they pulled out rocket launchers, aimed and fired at the roof. Dark strands shot upward. When hers stopped playing out, Phoebe pulled the rope until it held firm. She had her harness on and attached the lift motor, then her harness, using a carabiner. She checked the connection, activated the motor and began to rise, with Dewey just ahead of her.
She used the time to check the guard’s station and found them watching the Broncos on television. Her digital stopwatch indicated they were ahead of schedule.
Dewey reached the roof ahead of her, scrambled over the edge, then helped her up. They shed their packs, and Phoebe went to work on the alarm wires around the ventilation shaft.
“God bless the CIA,” she murmured, giving Dewey the thumbs up to crack the grill when she was done. Still ahead of schedule, Dewey settled the electric winch over the opening and roped up for the descent.
“Wish it would happen,” Phoebe said.
“What?” Dewey, his legs dangling over nothing, lifted the night goggles and looked at her.
“Whatever’s going to go wrong.”
“Try to be less optimistic, darling.”
Phoebe couldn’t see his grin, but she heard it in his voice. He repositioned his goggles and started his descent. Phoebe checked the guards one last time before starting down, as that feeling of someone walking over her grave got stronger.
* * * *
Stern paused to light a cigarette—and to study the desolate street—before entering the rundown garage. Inside he found Billy and two other men pitching pennies by a dark car that wasn’t as ramshackle as it appeared to be. The enclosed place was fetid and stuffy. Underpinning the acrid stench of sweat were a variety of petroleum-based scents, stale and fresh cigarette smoke and…Cheetos?
He turned toward the smell and found Farley munching out of a bag of the bright orange puffs. Farley, Harley and the other three men were to lead the assault on TelTech tonight, but only Farley and Harley were scheduled to return with RABBIT. They were the only ones Stern trusted to keep their mouths shut. Since Farley had inside help, he could have walked in and out of TelTech with his eyes closed, but that wouldn’t look good on the six o’clock news.
Appearances were everything in politics.
Stern took a last puff of his cig, then dropped it onto the gritty cement and ground it out with his shoe. Interesting that he felt so much more comfortable here, with Farley and his doomed goons, than in Harding’s lofty office. Even more interesting that he’d worked so hard to get away from places like this. He’d hooked his life to Harding’s ruthlessly rising star and never looked back.
Until now.
Stern had seen and recognized the look in Harding’s eyes. Trust was gone. Perhaps Harding had been receiving anonymous notes like the ones being sent to him? Someone was sowing the seeds of distrust. Someone was succeeding. An uneasy truce was in place until the RABBIT problem was taken care of, but after? Only one of them would be left standing. Harding had never been one to take prisoners.
“Your men ready?” he asked Farley.
Farley tossed the empty bag into a greasy barrel, grabbing an even greasier rag to wipe the orange residue from his hands. “You guys ready?”
They shuffled into what passed for a line.
“When do we get paid?” Billy asked, appointing himself spokesman for the group.
“Like always,” Stern said. “When the job is done.” He walked toward Billy, not stopping until Billy took a step back. “And done right.” He looked at Farley. “Hit the road.”
Farley met Stern’s eyes until ten seconds had ticked away, then moved toward the car. His men in black followed.
* * * *
From an air conditioning grill, Phoebe watched the guard finish his round and head for the elevator with the eagerness of a horse heading for the barn. Phoebe wasn’t surprised. The Broncos game was heating up nicely. An unexpected bonus. They’d picked up almost five extra minutes thanks to the home team.
Using her keypad, Phoebe created a film loop of the empty hall, then nodded at Dewey. In short order they were moving toward the second-to-the-last barrier between them and RABBIT. Dewey attached the device to the keypad that operated the lock and popped open the door.
Inside, Phoebe headed straight for the row of state-of-the-art research and development computers, offering up a silent prayer that Ollie had finished his work here before he died. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be able to get into RABBIT’s data files. Dewey was on the safe before Phoebe could sit down and start the boot-up. Other than the computers, the room was oddly barren, as if the occupants had already moved on to other things.
She checked the guards again, noticing that the camera was recording them for some reason. No time to worry about it now and it wouldn’t hurt anything. Maybe she and Dewey could watch the game later. It was in the final quarter with the Broncos still ahead.
“We’ve picked up six minutes.”
“I’ll be done in three,” Dewey said.
* * * *
They went in quiet, their weapons camouflaged by cleaning equipment. Farley and Harley stayed in the rear, using the other men as cover from the surveillance cameras. A guard strolled out to meet them, his attention still drawn toward the office blaring with the sounds of the Broncos game.
The guard had a heartbeat to realize they weren’t the regular cleaning crew before Billy took him out with a silenced gun. The men moved into the office and took out the other guards q
uick and quiet.
Farley stopped by the first guard and picked up his weapon before he followed them in. Two shots and Billy was down.
The other two men didn’t blink. They’d already been told that Billy wasn’t supposed to come back from the job. They hadn’t heard about their own demise. Harley used another guard’s gun on them, then dropped the weapon by the guard’s body. Farley returned his gun to its dead owner while Harley found the security tapes and removed them.
Farley dialed Stern on his cell phone. “The building is ours.” He hung up without waiting for an answer and followed his brother to the elevators.
* * * *
“I’m in.” The safe door swung open with a soft swish.
“So am I.” Phoebe looked up from the terminal. “I’ll be done downloading data in five. Then I’ll activate the virus.” She looked at her watch. “We’re still ahead of schedule and—”
She stopped as something odd in the security office caught her attention.
“Houston, we have our problem.”
“Cops?” Dewey swept everything in the safe into his pack, closed the door and spun the dial.
“I wish.” A few keystrokes pulled the camera up on her monitor so Dewey could see what she was seeing.
“Crap! Do you think they’re headed here, and what do we do about it if they are?”
Phoebe didn’t answer. Her mind was racing, exploring various options, searching for the path out of the maze. “First”—even as she spoke, she was typing again, tapping into the security terminal inside the tomb that had been the security office— “let’s get the cops involved.” She activated the silent alarm.
“Okay.” Dewey didn’t sound thrilled by her action, but he didn’t argue. “Though you might have waited for your data download to get done.”
“Oh yeah. Three minutes.” She pulled up the camera in the elevator the two guys were coming up on. “And they’ll be here in two minutes unless…” It seemed to take a long time to get into the elevator controls while Dewey counted off the floors.
The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy Page 49