Stuff to Spy For

by Don Bruns

  I turned and James was right behind me.

  “We’re out of here?” He asked me so innocently.

  “Yeah. We’re out of here. In another minute the cops are going to be here asking me all kinds of questions.”

  I heard him, quietly behind me. “See you tonight. Eight sharp. And, I’m looking forward to it.”

  The response was equally soft. “James, be careful. Take care of yourself.” Eden Callahan was praying for the date to still be on.

  Son of a bitch was still in there working it. If we had a Friday night, my roommate was set. If we had a Friday night.

  No other words were spoken. James came up by my side as we exited the building, and he looked the other way when we walked by the blanketed body and the three paramedics who were lifting her onto the stretcher. What was left of her.

  He didn’t say a word as we approached the truck. James pretty much knew what I was thinking and I knew that he did. It was scary how close we were. Em and I shared a very close relationship. Not as close as I wanted, but damned close. James and I—it went beyond understanding.

  He opened the door of the truck and started the engine. The traditional cough, the belching of black smoke, and he put it into drive. “Where are we going?”

  “Remember the day care center?”

  “The one we visited on that first GPS excursion?”

  “Tiny Tots Academy. The same.”

  “I remember.”

  “There was a reason Feng stopped there.”

  “And the locked building?”

  “No one there to ask, but we can ask someone at the school.”

  He pulled out of the parking lot, and as we glanced out of the windows, we could see the emergency vehicle parked by the body of Carol Conroy. It was hard to fathom, hard to understand. Here was a lady who was supposedly scared for her life, a lady who had asked for our help, and a lady who had led us down a very dark path. Here lay a lady who had betrayed her husband and me. Me. I wasn’t getting a check from this lady. I know it sounds very selfish, but when you think of the time, effort, and expense we’d gone through, I had a reason to be slightly upset. Somebody had to pay for the smoke detector/camera.

  “Why the day care center, Bro?”

  “I want to see who works there, James.”

  “Very strange.”

  Ten minutes later James pulled into Tiny Tots Academy. Somewhat shaken and battered by the ride, we stepped from the truck. I opened the front door and walked in. A policeman greeted us right inside.

  “What can I do for you two gentlemen today?”

  The uniform caught me off guard. “Is there trouble here?”

  “No. Why?”

  “You’re a policeman—” And, I thought, a murder just happened fifteen minutes ago. The victim was a lady who carried a pencil from this place and—

  “Off duty. Off-duty policeman. This is my day job. Security for—”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “You have a professional staff here?”

  “Of course. The instructors. I believe most of them have certificates. You guys surely aren’t here to check licenses.” He looked me up and down. Jeans, the bruise on my arm, a ripped T-shirt.

  James looked at me, still not sure where all this was going.

  “No. I don’t check licenses. But you also probably have volunteers, am I right?”

  “We do.”

  “Do you know any of them?”

  “Most.”

  “Is there a volunteer named Carol Conroy?”

  “There was. She worked one or two days a week.”

  Yes. Finally a good piece of spying. I was proud of myself. “She worked?” Past tense.

  “I understand that she’s no longer with us.”

  I nodded. “Did she ever have a visitor? Maybe an Asian gentleman in a security uniform. Drove a Honda Accord.”

  The cop studied me for a second. “No. Not that I ever saw.”

  Maybe he was lying to me. I’d had this thing half figured out, but if he never saw a visitor—

  “Now, Mr. Chen, he drives a Honda.”

  “Mr. Chen. The guy who owns the laundry?”

  “Yep. The same. He stopped by most days she was here and they had little meetings out by the playground.”

  I grabbed James by his shoulder. “Thanks.” I spun around and walked out the door.

  “What the hell was that all about?”

  “I don’t know for sure. But Chen has the same car that Feng has. I think we put a GPS unit on Chen’s Honda, not Feng’s. Chen has been meeting with Feng in the parking lot at Synco daily.”

  “Yeah. That’s what J.J. said.”

  “James, it was Chen’s voice that I heard while I was hiding under the Honda in the parking lot. After I put the GPS on the car, those two guys walked up and it was Chen, the guy with the scuffed shoes, that was talking to Feng.”

  “Okay. So why is he visiting this school?”

  “Don’t you get it? To meet Carol Conroy. She probably volunteered so they could have a safe place to meet. Think about it. They could walk outside, talk, pass information, and kids don’t gossip.”

  “We know Chen wants those codes. But Chen and Carol Conroy?”

  “I don’t have all the answers. I mean, this thing is going faster than I can keep up with it. My guess is that Chen was working with Carol Conroy. Chen was pushing Sandy Conroy and Feng to get the codes from the Department of Defense. He and Carol were planning all along to take the money and split.”

  “So Chen was the Chinese connection and Carol was the Synco Systems connection. And Ralph. The deceased Ralph? Didn’t we hear that he was supposed to be getting the codes?”

  Somehow I knew that Ralph had never known Sandy, Feng, Chen, and Carol were going to steal defense secrets for the Chinese. Ralph looked at the software order as a great sale. That’s probably all it was to him. The others were plotting on how they could make $75,000,000 off the government. And if Ralph Walters did find out that they were plotting the dastardly deed, that was probably the reason he’d been killed.

  “As soon as Synco Systems got the codes and passed them on to the Chinese, the Chinese could start downloading the computers. Chen would get the seventy-five million from the Chinese government for all the secrets, and Carol Conroy would let the whole thing blow up in Sandy’s face. They would lay all the blame on her husband.”

  “And it would blow up in Sarah’s face, and Feng’s face.”

  “And ours. We both heard her say that.”

  James took a left, ran a stop sign, and tromped on the gas. “So it was going to be Chen and Carol Conroy?”

  I’d only gotten so far with my logic. If you can call it logic. “When she hired us, we thought she was the victim.”

  “Right. She told you she was afraid of being killed.”

  “So she fooled us. She sucked us in and made us a part of the game. We’d naturally think that Sandy and Feng were the bad guys. And her husband Sandy thought he’d been somewhat forgiven with the Sarah infidelity thing, and that Carol was going to share the money with him and pin the crime on Sarah, Feng, and you and me.”

  “The other night when they were in the building, she sure made it sound like it was going to be just the two of them. She was good at manipulating people, Skip. There’s a talent there.”

  “Was good.”

  “And Sandy thought he was the chosen one.”

  “He did.”

  “But it was Chen.”

  “And once the codes were passed down and Chen had the money, once all the groundwork had been laid by Carol Conroy, she was expendable.”

  “So why did Feng kill her in the parking lot?”

  He still didn’t get it. “Feng and Chen both had gray Honda Accords.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It had to be Chen that hit Carol Conroy with his car. He probably assumed no one was around to witness the hit-and-run, and even if someone saw it he cou
ld blame it on Feng. Same car.”

  “Clean the car, fix up the dents, and go on his merry way.”

  “Seventy-five million dollars richer.”

  “And what about Sandy Conroy?”

  I’d considered that. Carol Conroy would have planted some deep evidence that he was guilty of stealing secrets. And he was. If she didn’t kill him, the evidence would.

  He hit a pothole and the truck veered to the right.

  “By now, Sandy’s probably figured out that he’s one of the scapegoats.”

  “What about us?”

  I didn’t want to tell him what I thought about us, but I figured he needed to know. “I believe that Sandy Conroy knows we were the ones who hacked his computer. He admitted to Carol that he thought we were spying on him.”

  “So he’s after us?”

  “By now, I’d bet on it. He’s going to do everything in his power to cover his tracks.”

  “What about Chen?”

  “Chen’s already tried to kill us. I think he’ll continue to try.”

  “Oh, my God. So Chen is the one who shot at us. Not Feng?”

  “He is. It was his gray Honda that J.J. saw. I’ll stake my entire pay on it.” I was quickly realizing that was a hollow stake.

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Call Jason Riley.”

  James pulled into our apartment complex, slamming the tires against the sidewalk as he came to a stop. I know that one day he’s going to go up over the walk and right into the building.

  “Who, pray tell, is Jason Riley?”

  “Department of Defense contact. Remember? His name was on Sandy’s list when we broke into his computer.”

  We stepped from the truck and walked up to the door. Someone had left a note in an envelope, shoved inside the screen door.

  “Skip, we can’t trust anybody at this point. You just made that case. And how can you be so certain that the codes have been passed?”

  “Carol Conroy was run down by Chen’s Honda. He doesn’t need her anymore. Which means—”

  “He’s going to take out as many of us as he can.”

  That was my thought.

  “And what are you going to tell this Riley? Assuming he’s straight and not on the take.”

  I unlocked the door and walked in, tossing the sealed envelope on the small kitchen table. “I’m going to make the case as fast as possible and tell him to either stop any access to their computers or change the codes immediately.”

  “Jesus, Skip. If you’re right, the fate of our entire country’s defense is in your hands.”

  That’s something you just never expect to hear. I mean ever. But I suppose he was right.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  I’ll admit it. I didn’t have a shred of evidence to present. I’d heard conversations, we’d found a GPS on the truck, and attached it to a UPS surrogate. We had the smoke detector video of Conroy’s conversation, and it disappeared. I’d had two face–to-face conversations with a dead woman, but no actual proof that we’d ever met. I’d attached a GPS unit to a gray Honda, and now I wasn’t even sure whose Honda it was. But I still had to make a call to Jason Riley. Without a shred of evidence, without any idea of how codes work at the U.S. government level, I had to explain to this guy that someone was trying to steal all the information stored in the Department of Defense computer system.

  “As I pointed out, pard, this guy may be part of the problem. He may hear you spout your suppositions, your hypothesis, and he might be the next guy in line to take you out. Us out.

  I pointed at my laptop. “Can you get online and find a phone number for the Department of Defense?”

  “I’m sure they have a main number where people like us can just give them a jingle anytime we feel like it.”

  “James. Try it.” There were times when I wanted to choke him.

  He clacked away at the keyboard, occasionally giving me a dirty look. I walked to the refrigerator and grabbed two cold beers. Popping the top on both, I took him one and got a half smile.

  “Son of a bitch.” He obviously wasn’t happy that I’d been right. “Here’s the number.” I looked at the screen. 1 (703) 428-0711 +1.

  Sometimes a free beer does the trick. I dialed the number, glancing at the time digitally displayed on my cell phone. If they ran the department like a business, they should still be open. Their phone rang three times and then an automated attendant answered. I waited, two minutes, and finally the robotic voice gave me directions. Three minutes later—a lifetime when national security is at risk—I was connected to a live operator.

  “How can I help you?”

  “It’s a matter of national security that I speak to Jason Riley.”

  “National security?” I heard a snicker in her voice. Obviously this was not the line that terror threats came in on.

  “Lady, this could be the most important call you’ll ever take in your life. Please tell me how I can reach Jason Riley.”

  It was obvious that she had no idea who Riley was. Neither did I.

  “Let me check that name, sir.” Very brusque.

  Quiet. There was nothing on the line. After thirty seconds, I thought there had been a disconnect. Finally, she answered. “He happens to be in his office and will take your call.” She sounded surprised. My guess was that no one was ever in their office. Every employee at the Department of Defense had voice mail and every employee used it. I waited about thirty seconds.

  “Hello. This is Jason Riley. How can I help you?”

  “Mr. Riley,” sounded like a young guy. If he was part of the problem, I was just digging us in deeper. If he was a good guy, then we were still in a lot of trouble. “This is Skip Moore and I need to tell you a story you are not going to believe.”

  “I’ve heard stories like that before. Someday I’ll write a book. Go ahead, Mr. Moore. Tell me your story.”

  I did. Passionately laying out a half-brained plan that had only been hatched in the last two or three hours. But it flowed. Better than when I talked to James. And I saw my best friend, my roommate, nodding enthusiastically as he picked up the unopened envelope on the table.

  “Mr. Riley, stop any access to your computer system. Don’t let anyone from Synco Systems have access to your system.” James tore open the side of the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper.

  There was a dead silence on the other end of the line.

  “Mr. Riley?”

  “Mr. Moore, do you seriously think that we pass out computer codes to every vendor that we do business with?”

  “I hope not.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I can tell you, there’s no one who has access to any codes. I’m not sure where you got your information, but whatever you’ve heard regarding that is nonsense.”

  “Mr. Riley, have you ever heard of Chi Mak? Stole missile secrets from the government? How about the DOD employee that kept defense secrets on his home computer?”

  “That was something that—”

  “Oh, and finally, do you remember how many laptop computers went missing at the Rocky Flats project outside of Denver? The place where they make the bombs? I think it was four or five computers. So, Mr. Riley, don’t tell me that the United States government doesn’t just give away secrets on a regular basis. I’d say it happens a lot.”

  “Mr. Moore, give me your phone number and I’ll have someone get back to you.”

  I knew damned well he already had my phone number. By now he probably knew that I’d graduated from Samuel and Davidson college, that I worked for Jaystone Security, and that Em and I were dating. I was easy to track. They were all spies, every one of them.

  “Mr. Moore?”

  James was waving the paper in my face.

  “Look, Riley, I can’t stress to you enough how serious I am. I am positive that the codes for your computers are going to be used to steal defense secrets. If you don’t take that warning seriously, we’re all going to be in some deep trouble.”

 
; “Thank you, Mr. Moore. The department appreciates your concern. Now, if you’ll give me your phone number—”

  James waved the paper in front of my face.

  I said a silent prayer, and flipped the phone closed. If Riley didn’t take me seriously, we were all in a world of hurt. If he did, well, I’d been known to be wrong before.

  “It’s Em.” He handed me the paper.

  I saw her signature at the bottom of the sheet. My eyes drifted to the top.

  Mr. Moore,

  I knew that wasn’t the salutation I’d expect from her.

  Your girlfriend is in our custody for the moment. We expect you to deliver the video/computer card to the following address or she will be killed. Don’t take this to the authorities. Don’t call anyone for help. You’ll hear from us by phone.

  The letter was signed by Em.

  “I am so sorry, pard. Whatever we need to do, I’m here.”

  “Jesus, James, say a prayer.” My phone rang and I grabbed it.

  “Mr. Moore?”

  “Where is she?”

  “Safe.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  “Well now, Mr. Moore,” I was getting very tired of the Mr. Moore crap, “with that attitude I can’t guarantee her safety for much longer.” I listened carefully to the muffled voice, trying to place it. It sounded as if someone was talking through a sweat sock.

  “I’m sorry. How can I get her back?” James sat in the kitchen chair straining to hear every word from the other end of the line.

  “Sandy Conroy says that you have to bring the video card.”

  “Where? When?”

  “Thirteen twenty-five Waterview Lane.” When I finally caught my breath, I thought it out. The locked up building. The two-story cement-block structure that had shown up on the GPS tracking device. They wanted me to deliver the card to that address. The biggest problem was, I didn’t have that card. Someone had taken it. And Em’s life was on the line. I’d been in some tough situations, but this one was the worst.