by Chris Ryan
Who is she? Josh wondered. A girlfriend. A wife?
'You okay, baby?' Kate whispered in his ear, as she rode him towards her own climax.
Josh shuddered, then nodded. Memory can be a dark and dangerous place, he thought. There is so little I know about myself.
Kate rolled away from him, her passion exhausted, and for a few minutes they lay still and silent, their bodies bathed by the starlight shining down on the mountains. Kate reached down for her shirt, pulling it back up over her breasts. Then she squeezed herself tight against Josh, as if looking for shelter from the cold of the night.
'You don't have to be with me,' said Josh. 'This is my fight. I can handle it on my own^
Kate swung her head from side to side, her lips reaching up to peck at Josh's mouth.'Now that I've found you, I'm not letting you out of my sight.'
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TWELVE
Wednesday, June 10th. Dawn.
Josh struggled to shake the sleep from his eyes. He could tell that it was set to be another baking-hot day, but the night had been cold and there was still a chill in the air. His bones felt stiff from the rough ground on which Kate and he had slept, and the wound in his leg was teasing his nerves: a vicious tingling sensation was running down the main artery, shooting into his knee. It feels like a cheese grater rubbing against my skin, he reflected. From the inside.
'Any memories, Josh?' said Kate.
She opened a bottle of Coke and passed a plastic cup across to Josh, and he took it between his hands, letting the cola drink's caffeine sink slowly into his veins. A coffee would have been good, but it was too dangerous to light a fire up here: the smoke would reveal their position. Down below, the camp was starting to stir to life. He could see some men walking through the rows of tin and canvas shacks: big, bearlike creatures, with beards, and tattoos on their bulging forearms. Afew yards from the shacks, a group of children were playing on some old tyres attached by ropes between a pair of up ended cars to make a simple swing. In the centre, he could see some women starting a fire. At least they're probably women, thought Josh. They had longer hair, bleached blonde, and not so many tattoos.
'Nothing,' he replied. 'It's going to be a long hard slog to get them back.'
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He sat down on a boulder, using the binoculars to continue his search. 'There,' said Josh. 'That's him.'
He passed the binoculars across to Kate. Whilst she peered down at the camp, he tracked the man walking across the rough scrubland. It was Flatner, Josh felt certain of it. He was flipping open a mobile phone, and pacing around while he talked.
'Yeah, definitely,' said Kate.
'What the hell are they all doing down there?' asked Josh.
She shrugged. 'Bikers -- who knows what the hell they do?' she answered. 'Most of them aren't as weird as they look. Lots of them have jobs and families and houses and stuff. They come up here for a few days, mess around with their Hondas andYamahas, do some drugs, and trade some stolen goods.'
'Bloody funny place to do it.'
'Look to your left.'
Josh glanced to the left of the camp. He could just about see some long rows of cacti, their ground-hugging green compact bulbs broken up by strings of light purple flowers. There were different kinds of cacti growing all over the wilderness, but these looked fresher. They were arranged in straight lines. Someone was cultivating them.
'Peyote,' continued Kate. 'It grows wild along this valley. It's one of the oldest and most effective psychedelic drugs known. The desert tribes of the South-West used it. So did the Aztecs. And now the bikers as well. You get good prices for that stuff in California.' A
Josh looked across at Kate. 'Do think there might be a good electronics shop anywhere nearby?'
Now that he'd seen that they were carrying mobiles, he knew what he needed: an interceptor that would allow him to eavesdrop on their calls.
'There's a mall outside Scottsdale,' she replied. 'They've probably got one there. Why?'
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'Flatner's conversations. I want to listen to them,' replied Josh. 'I want to know who he is and what he's doing.'
The journey was a long and arduous one. From Kate and Josh's base in the mountains, it was a three-mile walk back down to the car. At least no one had nicked the Mustang, thought Josh as he put the keys into the ignition. Next, there was a twenty-mile drive to The Village, a mall just outside Scottsdale. Josh had been wary on the road, keeping a close eye out for police patrols, and now he watched the security guards closely as they stepped inside. As soon as they arrived, he picked up some cheap plain-glass spectacles from a drugstore: they would change the shape of his face and make him harder to recognise. Then he found a public toilet and gave himself a wash. Next he made for a barber's shop to get the beard that he had been growing trimmed and his hair cut, telling the girl to give it a left parting -- so that it would help him look different to any picture of him that might exist. A man who stinks of the desert, and who looks like he hasn't washed or shaved in a week stands out, he figured. Just the smell would be enough to mark you out.
'I don't know about cleanliness being next to godliness, but I do know that it helps you stay in the shadows,' he pointed out to Kate as he directed her towards the hairdresser to get her own hair shampooed and blow-dried.
The electronics shop was a huge barn, filled with sockets, connections, wires and plugs. When Josh explained that he wanted an LAN receiver, the clerk sitting at the information desk had looked puzzled. 'Check your stocklist,'Josh told him sharply. Sure enough, they had a Yellowjacket in the storeroom. Eight hundred dollars, explained the clerk. Josh whistled, then started counting out the cash. The three thousand dollars in cash that he'd had on him when he was shot had already been whittled down to just a thousand bucks.
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I'd better find out who I am soon, he thought to himself. And I hope I have some sodding money in my account.
'How does that work?' asked Kate. They were back up the mountains.
The three-mile trek from where they had concealed the Mustang had put the dust and grime back into her freshly done hair, but she still looked magnificent, thought Josh. Her eyes were burning with curiosity, and the spirit of adventure was warming her blood, bringing a glow to her cheeks.
Josh held the Yellowjacket Wireless Receiver in his hand. The device measured eighteen inches long, by ten across, and weighed just one pound. It was encased in a frame of thick black plastic, with a tiny liquid-crystal screen displaying the radio frequencies as you scrolled through them.
I know how to use this, thought Josh to himself, looking down at the receiver. I don't know where or when, but somebody taught me how to spy on people. 'A cellphone transmits over a local area network to its closest base station,' he said. 'Most phones and networks are digital these days, so that makes them pretty hard to hack into unless you have access to the encryption software run by the phone company. That's enough security for the average user, although if you are really worried about it you can scramble your own calls. These guys aren't doing that.'
'So what does this thing do?'
'This device is a high-powered radio receiver,' said Josh, 'with a built-in digital decoder. The encryption doesn't kick in until the call reaches the base station and gets processed by the computers of the phone company. But if you can intercept the call between the cellphone and its base station, you can tune into it as if you were tuning into your local radio station. All we have to do is sit back and listen.' Josh hunkered down behind a boulder. The Yellowjacket
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was lying in the sand next to him, along with a bottle of water. It was three in the afternoon now, and the sun was still hanging high above him in the sky. Even at altitude the heat was punishing. Beads of sweat were running down his back, soaking his shirt, and the air was so dry and overheated that it was scorching the back of his throat. A snake was winding its way through the boulders: a nasty-looking yellow and black cre
ature. Josh watched it slither its way across the boulders. He held a sharp rock in his hand, ready to smash the reptile to death if it came any closer.
A man could fry to death out here. If the snakes didn't poison him first.
Using his thumb, Josh was scanning through the frequencies on the Yellowjacket. Most mobile systems transmitted at between 2,300 and 2,600 megahertz, a narrow range of radio bands. Which one any particular phone was using depended on the network operator, and the amount of voice traffic that they were carrying.
The receiver locked on to a signal. Josh plugged in the earphone and started listening.
'I need an FA135,' said a voice.
'We haven't got any'
'Where can I get some?'
'No idea, man. Try the Honda dealer in Phoenix.'
Brake pads, realised Josh. One of the bikers down in the camp was looking for some new brake pads for his Honda. He swivelled the dial, locking out that call and looking for another one.
'I can deliver you the stuff Tuesday, man. That okay?'
Josh listened intently. What stuff?
'I can handle three. Think you can get that many?'
'No way, man. Three Mercedes by this week, no way. There aren't that many Mercs to steal in the whole of fucking Arizona. I can get you a couple of Mercs, maybe a Beamer and a Ford. A nice pick-up, a Ranger, whatever.'
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'Forget it. I'll take a Merc and a Beamer if you can get them, but no Fords. We can't even sell the new ones, so forget the hot mothers.'
Josh leaned back against the boulder. He took a bottle of water, putting it to his lips, letting the liquid pour down his throat, taking a couple of degrees off his body heat. Got to be careful with the water, he thought. The bikers are doing a lot of business up here in the hills. They talk a lot. It could be a long wait.
Josh pushed the earphone into his anticle, pressing the tiny lump of black plastic tight against his flesh, making sure that he caught every word. Dusk had started to fall across the valley, and there was a fire burning down in the centre of the camp. Even high up in the hills, Josh could smell the charred flesh of the animal roasting on the spit: the odours of the juices of the cooked meat were making him hungry as he nibbled his way to the bottom of the day's second packet of biscuits.
Then he sat bolt upright. The rest of the bikers, he reckoned, were just dope-heads and small-time crooks. If there was anything important happening down there, it was going to be channelled through Flatner. He was their leader.
And suddenly there was a new voice on the line. 'I want him dead Flatner,' said the voice. 'Do you understand me? Dead, as of today. And that Luke boy as well.'
'Do you hear me?' repeated the voice, its tone rising into a nasal, bullying whine. 'Dead.' A
He wants who dead? Josh asked himself.
Me?
Josh fiddled with the scanner on the Yellowjacket, making sure that it stayed locked on to the call.
'We've got men roaming the area,' answered Flatner.'We're going to nail him.'
'And the boy?' said the man.
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'We're still hunting.'
'Redouble your efforts,' said the voice. 'Spend whatever money you have to. Hire whoever you have to. The expense doesn't matter.' He paused on the line. As Josh looked down on the valley, he could see Flatner standing just outside the camp, his huge shoulders hunched upwards and his brow furrowed. 'I need both of them.'
'Understood, sir,' said Flatner. 'We're already measuring up the coffins,' he chuckled as he snapped the phone shut.
It's not often that a man gets to listen to his own death sentence, reflected Josh as he pulled the plug from his ear.
Looking down at the Yellowjacket, he started punching the dials on the device. He was working purely from instinct -- he had no memory of when or where he might have received the training to do this -- but he knew that it was possible to access the incoming call number. The numbers were digitally encoded, but the device slowly unpicked the code until the incoming call data was clearly described in soft green lettering on the instrument's LCD screen.
Josh looked down at the eleven digits displayed in front of him. 08732 611544.
That's the number of the man who wants to kill me. All I need to know now is his name.
He looked up at Kate. She was stretched out on the rug, dozing gently. He had been sitting there for hours waiting for the one call that would give him the breakthrough he needed.
Inside Kate's rucksack .a cellphone rang.
Josh jumped, worried that even the quiet ring tone might give away their position.
'Yes?' he said.
'That Josh?'
Josh recognised the voice: the same gruff, unhelpful tone that he had listened to yesterday. Kessler. 'You found something?'
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A pause. Even over a mobile line, Josh could see the man's face, the skin around his beard twitching as he calculated how much information he wanted to reveal. 'You bet.'
'What is it?' said Josh. 'What's on the computer?'
Another pause. Can't you just get to the point, man?
'We can't speak on the phone.'
'I thought you said this was a secure line.'
Kessler laughed drily. 'I'm not telling you on any kind of phone.'
'I'll come to your house, then,' said Josh. 'Tonight.'
'No way,' said Kessler quickly. 'I don't want you coming anywhere near my house.'
Christ, what's he found?
'Where, then?'
'About a mile west of Kanab, just after you cross into Utah from Arizona on Interstate 89, there's a mall called The Waterfall. In there, you'll see a Taco Bell. It's open twenty-four-hours. When can you get there?'
Josh thought for a moment, running the calculations in his head. An hour to walk back to where the car was hidden, then at least a two or three hours' drive. 'Three hours, maybe four,' he replied.
'Then I'll see you there at midnight,' said Kessler. 'Don't go inside. I'll meet you in the parking lot. Look for a yellow VW Beetle.'
'Fine, we'll be there.'
'And listen - I'm doing this as a favour for Marshall,' continued Kessler. 'I'll talk to you, for half an hour. After that I never want to see you again.'
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THIRTEEN
Wednesday, June 10th. Midnight.
There were only two other cars in the parking lot as Josh steered the Mustang through the entrance to the Taco Bell. A pick-up truck and a new Audi. Josh killed the Mustang's engine, and leaned back in his seat. No sign of a yellow Beetle. He'd made sure they'd arrived a few minutes early so he could check that the parking lot was safe before they went in. He'd seen two cars at Kessler's ranch: a Ford and a Land Rover. No sign of a Beetle. Maybe he's fixed himself up with a different car just for this trip. To make sure that no one can trace him.
He's scared. And he doesn't look like a man who scares easily.
'Can you see him?'Josh said, glancing across to Kate.
She shook her head. 'We've still got ten minutes,' she replied. 'A computer nerd. I've got a feeling he's going to be punctual.'
'Want something to eat?'
'Hell, why not? When you drive two hundred miles to a Taco Bell you might as well treat yourself. Make it a half pound burrito combo, with some cheesy fiesta potatoes on the side.'
She looks thin enough, thought Josh as he walked towards the counter inside the restaurant. Not like most of the customers at Taco Bell.
It was now ten to midnight, he noted, checking the clock
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on the wall. They had walked quickly down the mountainside, back to the curve of the road where they had hidden the Mustang behind a heap of boulders. The drive had been a fast one. There was little traffic at this time of night. And Josh's adrenalin was pumping furiously, pushing him forwards. If we can crack what was on that computer, maybe I'll know what I was out here looking for.
Returning to the car, he handed Kate h
er burrito and took a bite from his own Double DeckerTaco.The combination of beef, flour, cheese and lettuce tasted good. Fast food is what you need on the run, he reflected. Constant hits of sugary, over-flavoured food to keep your energy levels up.
Just then, the Beetle drove into the parking lot. Josh and Kate climbed out of the Mustang.
Kessler stepped from his car and walked the few yards across the parking lot to where Josh and Kate were standing. His eyes swivelled from side to side, checking the space for surveillance. One man was sitting inside the restaurant, eating a Tostada and listening to some music on his iPod. Otherwise the place was empty. As Kessler reassured himself that no one could see him his manner slowly unwound.
'Cheesy potato?' asked Josh, offering him one of the outsized chips.
'I'm not hungry,' snapped Kessler.
'Golden potatoes topped with warm nacho-cheese sauce,' continued Josh, reading from the side of the carton.'They're delicious.'
'Let's make this quick,' said Kesjler.
'Suits me,' answered Josh, putting down his food on the car. 'What did you find?'
Kessler put a black leather computer case down on the bonnet, unzipped it, and took out the Dell Inspiron. The machine lay silent and inert, a harmless-looking lump of plastic, wire, and silicon. 'Take it,' said Kessler, a rasp in his voice. 'I never want to see it again.'
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Josh put his hand down on the computer. 'I will,' he said softly. 'But first I want to know what's on it.'
Kessler wiped his brow. Even though there was a cool breeze blowing through the night air, a few beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. 'The hard drive had been wiped,' he said. 'Done it pretty well, too. Whoever owned this machine clearly knew a bit about computers. They knew how to get right inside the operating system and carefully erase all traces of what programs it had been running, and what websites it had visited.'
'But it wasn't all wiped clean?'Josh asked.
'Just about. But Windows is a hell of a program. There are layers and layers of code in there, with different bits plugged into the thing as they update it every year. I reckon even Bill Gates doesn't really understand it any more.' Kessler paused to smile at his own joke. 'Eventually I found a few traces. Took me all day but there were bits of code wrapped inside other bits of code. Once you unpeeled those you had a few keys. And I didn't like what I found.'