by Don Bruns
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You parked all the way across the lot. I yelled, but you didn’t hear me. Then I got caught up with Sandy when I finally came in and—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. What’s your point?”
“Very simply, I saw Feng pull in. Didn’t know who he was at the time, but I saw him get out of the car.”
“What kind of car, James. Don’t play games with me.”
“Foreign. Not one of ours.”
I should have hit the son of a bitch. “What kind of car, James?”
“Honda, Skip. Gray Accord.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“It’s too easy.” Nothing came together like that.
“Some things are easy, Skip.”
“So this Feng guy has been following Carol Conroy and you and me?”
“No guarantee that it’s the same guy. And if it is, maybe he’s just checking up, pally. Could be a logical explanation.”
“Maybe.”
“But,” he hesitated, “if you’re up for it, we can turn the tables.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can follow him.”
“James, we have a job to do. Neither you nor I have the time to follow someone.”
“Yeah. What is your job, exactly? I mean, the installers are installing, J.J. and I are, as you so effectively put it, we’re running. What do you do?”
“I make sure everything gets handled.” Actually, I had the easiest job of the bunch. But I’d sold the project. The hard part was done. Unless of course there was a problem. There was always that possibility.
“How?”
“How what?”
“How do you take care of your end? What exactly do you do?”
“Look. My title is—”
“You’ve got a title?”
Never should have mentioned it. “It’s not important.”
“Skip, pal, come on. What is it?”
“Michael said that I was Person in Charge of the Project.”
James laughed out loud. “Did you major in that?”
“Shut up.”
He did.
“Look, as to what I do? I’ll have the laptop with me at all times and coordinate the—”
“The laptop? What laptop?”
“Jaystone Security has a—”
“We’ve got that slow piece of crap at the apartment, that piece of junk from another century, and now I find out you’ve got a laptop?”
“Settle down, James.” I checked over my shoulder as he raised his voice. I was hoping for a quiet conversation. “It’s a company laptop.” We did have a couple laptops that the sales staff shared. “I can only use it when we’re on a job.”
“Hooked to the Internet?”
“Of course. We’ve got one of those plug-ins with an antenna. You just plug it in and you’re online. From anywhere.”
James put his index finger on my breastbone, pushing. “You never told me, Pancho. But, if you’ve got a laptop with mobile Internet, I’ve got it all figured out.”
“Yeah?”
“I got the GPS back from Em last night. It’s in the car. Battery should be good for two days.”
“And what are you suggesting?”
“Simple, Skip. We put the GPS on Feng’s car.”
It was simple. Simple and brilliant. Simple but illegal. Of course I didn’t expect James to recall that part of the deal. “Do you remember what Jody said before we left his office?”
“Refresh my memory.” James’s eyes shifted as he watched the other installers walking into the room.
I put my arm on his shoulder, and we walked farther from the group, across the clean white tiled ceramic floor. In a hushed tone I said, “Jody told us that unless the vehicle had the user’s name on the registration, it was against the law.” A wife could track her husband, as long as her name was on the vehicle he was driving. But if it was someone else’s vehicle, she is out of luck.
“Jody said a lot of things that he had to say. And what I heard, Skip, was blah blah blah blah blah.”
“Listen, man—”
“Skip, we’re not hurting anyone. We’re just trying to see what he’s up to. This guy may have been following you, Mrs. Conroy, and now both of us.”
“Maybe it’s a coincidence.”
“Maybe it’s not.”
“Man, it’s illegal to attach one of those things.”
“Dude, we’ll need another unit.”
“What?”
“I told you. They only last for a short time. Battery has to be changed out. We’ll switch ’em back and forth.”
“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”
“I believe you started this conversation by asking me to do a little detective work. You wanted me to follow this guy into the parking lot and see what kind of car he drove.”
“And?”
“I’m taking it to the next level.”
The morning was taken up with organization. Andy and his crew met with J.J. and James, and we all met with Feng and his eight Gestapo agents.
“We work on very sensitive projects.” He addressed our small group as he paced back and forth. “It is a priority that we have a very tight security system, but we cannot let you folks wander around the premises. Whatever station you’re working on, you will need to have one of our security persons with you at all times. Is that completely understood?” He always seemed to finish by looking straight into my eyes.
No one said a word. Around us about fifty men and women in white lab coats were sitting at their tables, oblivious of our little conclave. Quietly they worked their computer magic. Most of them just stared at their screens as we stood in a huddled mass.
James leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I’d like to be paid to sit on my ass and watch TV.” I nodded. A quote from the movie Clerks, 1994. People who saw the movie claimed James and I were much like the lead characters. As if that were a compliment. As if.
“We will ask anyone who breaks this rule to leave.” The short, little guy squinted and eyed each one of us, again finishing with me. Then he turned sharply and walked back into the office at door number two.
“I think we’ll get along with this group quite well,” said Andy.
I rolled my eyes, more for my own benefit than his. James and I walked with Andy and an attractive uniformed female out to the lobby where we’d left hardware for the main door system.
“Door contacts, motion detector, window contacts, smoke detector, and camera mount.” Andy checked them all off on a sheet of paper. He turned to one of the installers and James. “We’ll be working most of the morning on the entrance.”
The young lady with soft auburn hair, a gray uniform, and the thick leather belt stared intently at the equipment. Her authoritative tone didn’t fit with the look. “Everyone associated with this installation will stay inside this building until this specific project, the main entranceway, is complete. Is this understood?”
Andy had stationed the other installers around the building, and each one had his own security guard. We had installers for the office doors, for the outside windows, and for three other camera mounts.
Our security guard was about five two, young, with flashing eyes, that dark auburn hair, and a name tag that simply read Callahan. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her belt. She had a gun and a holster, what appeared to be a Taser, a tear-gas container, a cell phone, pager, and two-way radio. There were at least two tools I didn’t recognize and about two inches of just belt. I’m sure they were going to find something to add to those two inches.
“Skip, need to talk.” James grabbed my arm and pulled me aside.
“James, this is a piece of cake. Just do the job and—”
“That’s the point.” He spoke in a soft voice. “Feng and the Nazi storm troopers aren’t going to let us out of here. Meals are being delivered for lunch.”
I thought the security was a little much. We’d licensed and bonded our installers, but I guess if you
work for the United States government—“So? You get the bonus of a free meal. And I doubt if it will be crab.”
James gave me a wry smile. When he worked at Cap’n Crab, he got free food. He brought home crab from work. Lots of crab. Sometimes crab every night. We ate more crab than anyone I know, and we both were sick of crab.
“Are we going to follow our Honda Accord, Skip?”
“I like the idea. It scares me, but I’d like to know if this guy is working against us.”
“Now think about this, pard. So what if he is? Is it worth taking this chance?”
James was getting cold feet? This wasn’t like him at all. “Is it worth the chance? If this guy is messing with us, he’s messing with my income. Come on, James, I finally get the chance to make some serious money and I’m not going to let some two-bit tin-horn security geek try to mess up my good thing.”
“Glad to hear you say that, amigo.” James stared out the glass door and floor-to-ceiling windows in the lobby. The parking lot was about two hundred feet away, and we could see the employee cars spread out on the asphalt. “His car is about ten rows back that way.” He pointed to the right.
“So when you put the—”
“Hold on.” James put his finger to his lips, a sign of silence. “I’m not allowed to leave till after we’re finished.”
“And?”
In a whisper he answered. “You are not involved in the actual installation. You can leave anytime you want.”
“We had to set it up that way.” I was whispering too.
“So, you’re the point man.”
“The what?”
“I can’t leave, amigo. You have to put the GPS on Feng’s gas tank.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Andy needed some clarification on a couple of technical points, mostly regarding the removal of the old system, and I was glad to get that clarification for him. The system that was in place had to be removed. Not a tough call. Sandy Conroy stopped me in the hall and expressed his desire for this project to be clean, simple, and effective, whatever that meant. Sarah asked me to stop by her office and when I did, she closed the door and told me that if Sandy Conroy hadn’t promised her the moon and stars, she might have been interested in rekindling our relationship from high school. Seriously. She actually said that. I didn’t have the heart to say that a relationship with a hooker was probably out of the question.
I was looking for excuses. Excuses not to leave the building. But eventually the excuses ran out. I found myself with nothing to do as the team of professionals went about their tasks. Jim Jobs, aka J.J., knew the ropes better than anyone and made some great suggestions, surprising even Andy. He pointed out some locations we might have missed, and J.J. had an uncanny sense about the positioning of the smoke detectors. I was feeling pretty good about the group, but not so good about my next assignment.
Signing out, I walked into the parking lot about ten thirty and headed for the Chevy box truck. I unlocked the passenger door, and there on the floor was the gray box, wrapped in plastic bands with magnets attached. A simple metal box that connected to a satellite somewhere miles above the earth. A simple gray box that would let us know, every step of the way, where Feng’s car was located.
“All you have to do, pard, is slide under the car and attach the box to the gas tank.”
I could hear his words. However, I’d never been on the underside of a vehicle. My father had. My dad left home when I was twelve years old, and I have few strong memories of the man, but I do remember he used to change his own oil. I remember him taking a large piece of cardboard, lying down on it, and sliding himself under his car. Isn’t it funny? You remember the strangest things. But Dad, for all his ability to deal with mechanical objects, couldn’t deal with human beings. Especially when it came to dealing with his family. He walked out on us, and no one ever changed oil in our garage again.
There was no cardboard in the parking lot. I was going to have to slide under the Accord on my bare back. Well, with the shirt on my back. I walked down the rows, hoping maybe Feng had an early appointment somewhere else. Maybe he’d taken off and the parking space would be empty. No such luck. The gray Honda Accord was hard to miss.
I almost believed that James had orchestrated the reason that he couldn’t do this deed himself. This had been his idea, and I’d assumed he would take care of it. Instead, here I was. I knew it was ridiculous, but I could picture him taking Feng aside and saying “Hey, Feng. Why don’t you make all of us involved in installation stay inside for the whole day? You could buy our lunch, and—” But I knew he’d had nothing to do with it. Even though he and Sandy Conroy were now best buddies.
The parking lot appeared to be empty of people. Eerily empty and quiet. Something didn’t feel right. Probably the fact that I was about to break the law. I crouched down and peered under the car. How hard could this be? Attach the box to the gas tank. Just reach up under the car, and—wasn’t going to work. The box wasn’t grabbing the tank. The magnets weren’t attaching. I assumed it would be a quick mount, but it wasn’t. I scooted a little, my upper body now under the vehicle. The blacktop was hot, the muffler hung low, and I had to move to the rear of the car. I reached up and pushed the box against the gas tank. Nothing. Sweat ran down my forehead and into my eyes, and the hot asphalt burned my back.
I jammed the unit, shoved it, slid it over the tank, finally putting my hand up and pressing on the gas tank. It was then I realized the problem. The gas tank was plastic. Plastic. And even though I’d done poorly in science classes, I knew that magnets don’t attach to plastic.
There’s an entire metal frame on a car, and I ran my hand over some of the undercarriage. Would the magnets be strong enough to hold the GPS to other metal parts on the car? I’d have to give it a try. I could picture the GPS unit falling off and Feng finding it. Or, even worse, the gray box dropping off, and I’d be out five hundred dollars.
I took a deep breath, and reaching up, I placed the unit against a strip of gray metal. It snapped into place, almost like it was fitted for the position. I looked up, admiring my handiwork. That’s when I heard the voices. Someone, two people maybe more, were walking the lot. I pulled my legs under the car and held my breath. The voices were close, and I could make out some of the conversation. Something about security. Something about letting him think that this would solve all the problems. It made no sense, but I latched onto words and faint phrases.
The voices were closer, and I curled into a fetal position, praying that the Accord would give me the cover I needed.
“When’s the project going to be done?” The voice was low, rumbling, and now it sounded like it came from five feet away.
“One month. They’ll get this security system up and running, and within three weeks Synco will start installing the software.”
“When do they release the codes?” The deep-voiced speaker asked the question. And I knew who was answering.
The voice was Feng’s. I would have bet on it. “We can’t install the program unless they give us the codes.”
The rumbler came back. “It’s that simple?”
“We’re banking on it,” Feng said. “Ralph was supposed to get them. He was the contact, but you know what happened to Ralph.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
“Yeah. I know.”
Sweat continued to run into my eyes, running down my chest, as I was crouched into a tight ball, saying a silent prayer that I would not be discovered. Something on the ground tickled my right arm. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt for the installation day left me somewhat exposed, and I could feel this particular tickling on my right elbow. I shuddered and the sensation stopped. For a couple of seconds. I gave my head a short shake, trying to get rid of the perspiration from my eyes. Squinting, I peered down at my right arm and saw the large black beetle with gray antennas, chewing on my skin. My eyes stinging, I shook my arm and the beetle moved. I didn’t follow him, just closed my eyes and prayed that he wouldn’t return.
“You don’t see any hitch?”
“None.” Feng responded.
“It can’t be this easy.”
“It can. It will be. It is.”
“Jesus.”
“Are you Christian?”
“No.”
Silence. Finally Feng spoke.
“We’ll get the codes. The plan is the same. We will be victorious.”
I could see their legs, Feng’s gray uniform pants and polished black shoes, and the other man’s black pants and scuffed loafers. And even though they spoke in hushed tones, I could hear their voices as if they were under the Accord with me. They were so close I could see lint on the fabric of their pants. Certainly they would realize I was two feet from them. They’d hear me breathing or I’d sneeze. Then I felt a funny sensation in my nostril, and I really started to worry.
“It’s in your hands.”
“I understand that, and I don’t take it lightly.”
There was no more conversation. The shuffling of shoes and the separation of the two men was audibly and visually evident, and I drew a deep sigh of relief. They were leaving. I couldn’t have been happier. I sniffed, trying to stop the sneeze sensation. Once, twice, and then I sneezed, muffling it by pressing my face into the rough surface of the asphalt. Everything was quiet and I strained to hear even the faintest sound. And there it was. I heard the faint click, the opening of a door and a second later, the slam of a door. The suspension shifted. Someone was inside the car. I was under the car. This was not the way it was supposed to go.
A moment of silence. Then a roar of the engine, and I shuddered. I shuddered, then shuddered again. Someone, my guess would have been Feng, had started the Honda and I was directly underneath. Would the wheels run over me? Could the car scrape me off the parking lot? I was in an extremely uncomfortable situation. For some reason I flashed back to one of the dozens of Hardy Boys novels I’d read as a kid. Frank Hardy was in a do-or-die situation. With all his might, he pushed, pulled, or did something and miraculously escaped from a life-threatening situation. The guy was like Houdini.