by R. Chauncey
Marajo breathed a sigh of frustration and said, “My dear, Larson, they don’t know who you are, and they don’t yet know who I am. And there are probably a thousand and one bus companies in America, and they can’t check them all because they don’t have that much time.”
He stared at her for a few seconds before he said, “If we leave as soon as possible, they won’t have time to check on all the bus companies in America.”
“Correct,” she said.
“What about my stupidity at Duffy Electric Parts Company?”
“I’ve already removed your picture from the security system,” she said.
“I didn’t see any cameras,” he said.
“You weren’t supposed to. Insurance company regulations require any business doing business with the public has to have them. Whether you can see them or not.”
“That’s not going to do much good when the Society’s people check and find out there’s no Oakland Electric Company. And my name.”
“Your name we can’t help, but after you left I checked for such a company in
Cook county Illinois and discovered there is an Oakland Electric Company in Chicago. It is small firm and has been there for over a hundred years.”
“I’ve probably heard of it. That’s why I used the name, but so what?”
“I managed to put your name on their payroll as a buyer.”
“And when the Society’s people check and find out I’ve never worked there they’re going to wonder why would I come down here and tell a lie?”
She stood up and walked over to him and grabbed him tightly by his left arm and turned him toward the door. “Do like I’ve told you, Larson,” she said in a quiet angry voice. “We can talk and plan later. Now go. And use cash no credit cards. They can be traced.”
“Just one last question,” he said as he turned to face her.
“What!”
“How did you know I was going to be at that theater?”
“The plate frame on the Jeep you rented has the name of the rental company on it. Now go. You’re wasting time we don’t have.”
“But that wouldn’t have told you I was going to the movies,” he said.
“No, it wouldn’t have, but Westport has traffic cameras like most cities and towns in America, and I -,”
“And you accessed them and looked for a Jeep with the same plate number,” he finished for her.
“You may not be a stupid as I suspect,” she told him. “Go.”
“Good night,” he said as he turned around walked toward the door. His headache was still hurting him, and he didn’t want to put his hat on. Pulling a hat over that lump would only make it more painful. Maybe the cold air, he hoped would cause it to decline and be less of a problem.
The Jeep was parked a few yards away from the door of cabin behind snow covered bushes. He got into it and drove toward the hotel.
*
Fifteen minutes later he was in his cabin’s bathroom swallowing three aspirins for his terrible headache with a cold wet towel covering the lump. Then he brushed his teeth and stripped to his shorts and got into bed. He lay on his left side to avoid lying on the lump. He closed his eyes thinking, Next time throw the fucking letter away, you idiot. He didn’t know whether the aspirin stopped his throbbing headache or falling to sleep did. And thank God that lump on the back of his head wasn’t as painful as it was. Maybe the cold air did help reduce the pain. He drifted off to sleep dreaming of being chased by a monster that made no sound and whose face he couldn’t see.
*
9 a.m. Monday, January 7
Larson had awoken at 8:30, showered, shaved, dressed, and packed by 9:30, then walked to the main building with his overnight bag. The lump had gone down enough for him to put his hat on. He paid for the rental of the Jeep in cash, and went to the restaurant for breakfast. By 10:54 he was riding in the same cab that brought him to the hotel back to the train station. By 2:30 he was sitting in a seat in a nearly empty passenger car riding to Chicago. His headache was little more than a dull ache and the lump was no more than an annoying pimple, but he decided to sleep anyway. It was fear of what he had gotten himself into more than the headache or the lump that made him want to sleep. He foolishly hoped that when he awoke everything that had occurred since January third would turn out to be no more than a bad dream.
It was 9:44 p.m. by the time he reached Chicago. He checked the train schedules before he left the station and bought a ticket using cash on a train leaving for Wichita at 1:15 a.m. on the eighth of January. By 10:15 p.m. he was driving his car out of the station’s four story parking garage where he’d parked it on the fifth. Twenty-five minutes later he was home. He had a sandwich and a cup of coffee before he packed for Wichita and got the extra money from the safe in the basement of his house. The he locked up his house, left a note taped to the front door telling the mail carrier he’d be out of town for two weeks and for the Post Office to hold all his mail. He apologized to the carrier in the note for not making arrangements for his mail at the Post Office. Before he left his house he went to his study and made four maps of where the Society’s information center was and the roads necessary to reach the area using the copier on his printer. By 12:30 a.m. January 8 he was sitting in the train station waiting for his train to board. Boarding began at 12:55 a.m.
***
Chapter 15
January 7, Tuesday, 9 a.m. work room in Hidden Society’s Headquarters
“You suggested starting with Paul Duffy yesterday, Willow” Karl said as he walked to his desk and sat down.
“Yeah,” he said, taking a seat behind his desk. “On computer.”
His computer immediately turned on. The screen showed the various desktop icons. One icon showed where he had stopped yesterday.
“Let’s use the keyboards,” Karl said. “That way our computers won’t be responding to someone else’s commands.”
“Why are the desks in a circle?” Betty asked, sitting down behind her desk. She touched a key on her keyboard and the computer came on.
“I think we should all be facing each other,” Karl answered. “That’s why I came back after you had all had gone to bed and moved them in a circle. That way we don’t have to turn around and miss something on our separate computers.”
The real reason for the circle was Karl wanted to see their faces. He was a strong believer that a person’s expression tended to be a mirror for their thoughts. He didn’t doubt they weren’t as determined as he to find the mysterious person they were looking for and kill him or her and retrieve what Julian had given the person. He just believed in being careful.
Dodge noticed the coffeemaker and eight mugs sitting on a table in the far right corner with cream and sugar and donuts and sweet rolls next to it under a plastic cover to keep them fresh. A dozen quart bottles of water were in a large box like glass container with ice. He walked to the table and made himself a cup of coffee.
“You set that up?” Willow asked Karl, nodding at the table with coffee and food on it.
“I told Lawrence Ames to have one of his trusted people do it,” he answered, looking at his computer. “Computer, did anyone use any of the computers in this room while we were gone?”
‘No.’ flashed on the screen.
“So what about this Paul Duffy, Willow?” Betty asked, getting up to get herself a cup of coffee.
“We agreed yesterday that any history of the Society would contain information about the chip Duffy created,” he said, deciding he’d had enough coffee for breakfast.
“So let’s start with Duffy,” Karl said as he began to type on his keyboard. “Duffy lived in Nevada and worked
for a computer company when he invented the all-purpose chip.” He typed the information he had on Paul Duffy into his computer and pushed the enter key.
A few seconds passed before the information appeared on his screen and the screens of the others.
“He worked for the Arden computer company in Arden, Nevada,” Betty read. “He retired the year he sold the chip to the Society and moved.”
“Doesn’t say where,” Willow asked.
“Duffy was a computer man and was fifty-seven when he retired,” Dodge said after a sip of his coffee as he walked back to his desk and sat down. He put his cup down on his desk and typed the Arden Chip Company into his computer along with the town the company was located in.
‘Arden Chip Company was founded in 1999 by Jessie Whipple in Arden, Nevada. The property was sold to the Regional Electric Company in Renton, Washington in 2059.’
“Maybe the company kept records of Arden’s employees,” Willow said.
“I doubt it,” Betty said. “The only thing Regional would have been interested in was Arden’s computer chips. If they acquired Arden’s employee records they wouldn’t have put them on any disk or server hard drive. Those records could be stored in boxes in the basement of the building Arden occupied in Arden, Nevada.”
Dodge ignored them and asked his computer was Arden a family owned business
or stock owned.
‘All of Arden’s employees owned shares of Arden’s stock.’ appeared on his monitor.
What happened to Paul Duffy’s stock? Dodge typed.
‘He sold it to the company when he retired. All of Arden’s stock was bought by Regional in 2059.’
“Let’s forget that,” Karl suggested as he typed accessing Nevada’s driver’s license bureau. “Look for a driver licenses under the name of Paul Duffy in 2034.”
“Why are you looking for driver licenses?” Willow asked, reading what Karl had typed on his computer screen.
“Let’s assume Duffy wasn’t a public transportation person,” he answered.
Seven Paul Duffy names appeared on their monitors. Six were still in Nevada. The seventh license had been exchanged in 2036 for a Kansas license.
Karl typed access Kansas Driver’s License Bureau and looked for Paul Duffy.
‘Paul Duffy’s Kansas license expired in 2069. It was never renewed.’
Dodge typed access death certificates for Kansas for a Paul Duffy and pushed the enter key.
Two minutes passed before his request was answered.
‘Paul Duffy, white male, died of natural causes in Westport, Kansas on June 18, 2069.’
“I’ll bet that town has a newspaper with an obituary section,” Karl said.
Dodge was already telling his computer to access all newspaper computers in
Westport, Kansas.
‘Westport Reporter is the only newspaper in Westport, Kansas.’
Do they have a computer server with storage abilities? He typed.
‘Yes.’
“Access the obituary section of the newspaper for information on the death of
Paul Duffy on June 18, 2069,” he typed.
A minute passed before the information appeared on his computer screen and the computer screens of the others.
‘Paul Duffy, born in Westport, Kansas on July 23, 1985, died on March 24, 2056 of natural causes. He is mourned by his son James Duffy, daughter-in-law Joan Tanner Duffy, and grandson Harold Duffy and five great grandchildren. Mr. Paul Duffy returned to Westport after many years of living and working in Nevada in 2036 and founded the Duffy Electric Parts Company the same year providing employment for over a hundred citizens of Westport. All of his employees and many relatives and friends paid their final respects to Mr. Paul Duffy on March 26, 2056. Westport has lost a dear friend and neighbor.’
“Now we’ve got a place to start our search from,” Karl said. He used his keyboard to tell his computer to bring up all information on the Duffy Electric Parts Company.
One hundred and three names of Duffy company employees appeared on his monitor and the others. The list started with Harold Duffy, president and C.E.O. to Carol Duffy Haines, president in charge of company product quality, and the other one hundred
and one employees including the two janitors. Along with starting date of each employee and their salaries. Plus home addresses and home phone numbers, com-cell numbers.
Five minutes later Willow said, “All we’ve got is a list of names of employees.”
“We’ve got more than that,” Betty said, looking closely at her screen.
“We have?” Karl asked, seeing nothing but names and addresses.
“Look at Marajo Smith,” she said.
They all looked at Marajo Smith.
“She started working for Duffy Electric nineteen years after Marlene Done was supposed to have died of drowning in Lake Superior,” Karl read aloud.
“That’s who we’re looking for,” Willow announced.
“Not necessarily,” Dodge said.
“Why not!” Willow shot back at him.
“Because we haven’t verified this Marajo Smith is Marlene Done.”
“Like hell we haven’t,” Willow said angrily. “She moves into town one year after this Marlene Done’ fake death and starts working for a company established by Paul Duffy. It’s the perfect place for Julian to hide Done until this guy with the drive shows up.”
“Not necessarily,” Dodge replied angrily.
“Aw, fuck you, Dodge,” Willow yelled at him.
“Start using your fucking brain, Willow,” Dodge yelled back at him.
Karl could see the anger rising in both of them. They were sick of this computer work. They were field men, especially Willow. Thinking wasn’t something he did on a regular basis. Find his quarry and kill them. Then go back to beer, women, and endless hours of watching sporting events on a high priced, large wall mounted four-D video display unit. Dodge on the other hand was a family man who, Karl was beginning to suspect, was tired of being a soldier who killed on Society orders without question. And he was a thinker which was why he’d become such an excellent soldier. He just didn’t find his quarry and kill them as Willow did. He made sure his killings were completely untraceable to him or the Society.
Karl looked over at Betty who was staring at both men with an expression on her face that said she was hoping for a bloody fight. Betty had no family and didn’t want one and was a loyal soldier of the Society. She was the product of nine hundred years of loyal soldiers from her family, and she was going to be the last if she didn’t have a child. Karl knew nothing about her private life, and didn’t want to. But he did know she had never failed to carry out an assignment, even a difficult one. It was the reason he had chosen her. Betty was a woman who could be depended upon to do her job regardless of the cost to others. Collateral damage was shit to her.
“Stop it, both of you!” Karl yelled in a cold voice.
Dodge and Willow stopped yelling at each other and looked at Karl.
“Explain yourself, Dodge,” Karl told him.
Dodge looked at him with emotionless eyes. Dodge had learned during his first month as a soldier never to show emotion. Emotions gave you away. They revealed what you may be thinking. And the wrong thought from a soldier was a death sentence.
“First look at the Arden Chip Company of Arden, Nevada,” he said.
“What about it?” Karl asked him.
“Regional bought the property, not the equipment, that was bought by Paul Duffy and moved to Westport, Kansas,” he said.
“Why would he do
that?” Betty asked.
“The Arden equipment could be used not only to make computer chips but also regular electrical parts with a little adjustment,” he said.
“So he bought the company’s equipment,” Willow said. “Big fucking deal.”
“There could be a million women who started working at some electrical company a year after Done’ fake death,” Dodge continued. “Though, I think it is a bit odd that Marajo Smith started working in 2057 at Duffy Electric a year after Marlene Done died. But what if we run off and grab this Smith woman only to find out she’s not Done?”
“So what if we do?” Willow replied. “We simply start looking again.”
“By then Smith’s family will have notified the authorities she missing or is dead, and a lot of cops are going to start wondering why she’s disappeared or is dead,” Dodge told him. “How long do you think it’ll going to take them to put Smith and Done together? And then we’ve got a whole new set of problems, Willow.”
“We would have wasted time we‘re running out of,” Betty said.
Karl agreed with Dodge. He looked at Willow and said, “You understand now why we’ve got to verify this Marajo Smith is really Marlene Done?”
Willow nodded and said in a depressed voice, “Yeah.”
“Okay, let’s get busy and find out all we can about Marajo Smith,” Karl said.
They all began to work silently. Only the soft sound of clicking keyboard keys filled the room. Two hours later Betty spoke.
“Marajo Smith is Marajo Smith,” Betty said, standing up and stretching.
“Sure is,” Willow agreed. “Birth certificate, health records, public school records even kindergarten records. All check out.”
“It’s a fake!” Dodge announced.
“What the hell you mean?” Karl barked at him. Dodge’s disagreements were beginning to bother even him, and he prided himself on his ability never to be bothered.
“It’s not real,” he said.
“I know what fake means!” Karl yelled at him. “Why do you think this is a fake?”