The Twins Paradox

by Sco Thorson

She pulled it from her purse and glanced at it quickly while running a red light.

  “Dave is in trouble. Where is Che Panz?”

  TJ wrinkled her nose, then pulled out her phone and began manipulating it furiously.

  “You are going the wrong way,” the phone enunciated in a firm feminine voice. “Safely reverse direction.”

  Monique pulled the parking brake and cranked the wheel, spinning the car in a boot-leggers turn before speeding off down the road.

  Max

  Wednesday 2:57 p.m.

  Max sat at his workstation studying the screen. The market had not been kind to his option positions. Random good news was pushing prices up, and his options were nearly worthless. He frowned, and called up another set of data. He would lose everything if the bomb didn’t go off on schedule. His walkie-talkie beeped.

  "This is Max."

  "Max, we've been hacked. Someone has breached the firewall."

  Max ran out a door and across a courtyard to the IT room. The technician was furiously pounding the keyboard.

  "What's happening," he demanded.

  “Our firewall was breached. The attack is coming from multiple sources, microseconds apart. I've never seen anything like this," the technician responded.

  "Cut the satellite link," he ordered.

  The technician ran to a large equipment rack and pulled the plug.

  "Can you tell what they were after," Max asked.

  The technician returned to the workstation and pulling up logs. After carefully studying them for three minutes he turned to Max.

  "He went for files on most of your business holdings, Bluestone, Emerald5, Night Watch. In fact, towards the end most of the files taken were from Night Watch."

  “How did he get in?”

  The technician opened another panel and clicked open a new log.

  “Your alpha one password.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The technician was perspiring heavily as he studied the screen. He pointed to the entry.

  Max frowned and walked from the room.

  More Trouble

  Wednesday 3:12 p.m.

  Dave waved to TJ and Monique driving off in his car, then returned to the pool. He called Mrs. Trickett and ordered a sandwich, then turned on some Winton Marsalis and selected back a good book. He was saving the world without breaking a sweat. Clearly, he needed more beautiful female assistants.

  He had another thought. The efficiency with which he was solving the bombing of Washington showed the Dr. Garg had done the right thing giving the Twins to him.

  His phone rang. It was a number he didn't recognize.

  “Hello, this is Dave."

  Mr. Richards," a voice began. “It is important we meet very soon."

  "I'm sure that will be a good idea,” Dave responded amiably, "when I am not otherwise engaged."

  He heard a sharp pop and the sound of breaking pottery. The large pot in the south nook of the wall shattered.

  The voice on the phone continued. "Mr. Richards, that could have been you. If you want to live you’ll do as you’re told."

  "Why, because if I don’t you’ll break all my ceramics?”

  There is another sharp pop. The pot in the north nook shattered.

  "I have a very good marksman watching your every move."

  "But he's not that great of a shot." Dave laughed. "He’s missed me every time."

  "Do you have a death wish, Mr. Richards," the caller asked. “Meet me at the Caribe Seafood Grill in half an hour."

  Dave sighed. “But Caribe is such a bad choice. Since you’re buying, I insist on Chez Panz. “

  He hung up and waved in the general direction of the sniper and finished his sandwich. His phone rang again, but it was his unwanted dinner guest so he ignored it. He strolled into the house and got the keys to the Cabriolet. Then he drove off, taking his time driving to the restaurant and making a number of unnecessary detours and a few calls. He wasn't worried about being followed; he just wanted to be late.

  When he entered the restaurant, the maître d' welcomed him by name. "Ah, Mr. Dave. Your guest is already here. I put him in the red room. I hope that is all right?" Dave slipped a large bill into the man's hand and smiled, "That'll be perfect Henry, but please keep an eye on us. This guest tends to be a little excitable."

  "Of course, Mr. Dave."

  Dave entered the private room where slovenly young man was seated at the large table, scowling at the menu. He wore a greasy Mariners baseball cap, and sported an equally disgusting Mariners T-shirt. He looked up and glared murderously at Dave.

  "You’re late, and nothing on this menu looks edible."

  "And I'm happy to make your acquaintance as well." Dave smiled, "I'm so glad to finally meet the man who rid me of those two hideous pots."

  The man continued glowering.

  "Based on your original choice of restaurants for our meeting, I suspected that you might not appreciate the fare here." Dave smiled. "So I took the liberty of ordering for you." A waiter entered the room carrying two plates with a small entrée in the center of each one tastefully arranged.

  "What's this?"

  Dave sighed. "Foe Gras. You should appreciate it. I'm sure you'll never get anything this good in prison."

  The man was silent until the waiter left the room.

  "You're a sassy one," the Mariners fan retorted. Then pulling a gun from beneath the table continued, "But unless I get what I want, you'll be dead."

  Dave cut a small strip of the Foe Gras and sighed contentedly. "But if you kill me then you'll never get what you want."

  "That hasn't stopped me in the past," the man paused for effect, then leveled the gun at Dave’s head, "I killed Garg."

  Dave became silent, staring at the man that may have killed the best person he had ever known.

  "That's right, I found out he had made a breakthrough and tried to acquire it from him,” the man smirked and continued. "He was messing with me just like you are because he thought I wouldn’t pull the trigger."

  The man leaned forward and glared. "He was wrong."

  Dave eyed the man coldly. “Then you killed a good man.”

  The Mariners man slumped waved his gun. "I know you have a quantum decryptor.”

  Dave looked doubtful. “Even the NSA doesn’t have a quantum decryptor.”

  The man swept the plate of Foe Gras onto the floor. “You've been decoding email messages. I want the technology now or you're a dead man."

  Dave stared coldly at the man. "You are as wrong as you are brutal. I don't have that quantum technology, and neither did Dr. Garg. You killed a good man for nothing."

  There was a knock at the door.

  "Service."

  The man slid the gun under the table. "Yeah," he grunted towards the door.

  Two young women entered varying bowls of soup. The blond waitress walked to the Mariner man’s side, placed a bowl on the table, and asked “Potage?”

  “Huh, speak English,” the Mariner man replied. He turned to look at her and she smiled. He stared out her, lost.

  Dave turned to the brunette, made a gun with his hand, and pointed under the table. She nodded, picked up a large salt cellar, and hit the man across the side of the head as he started at the blonde. He went sprawling to the ground.

  "Touché," Monique grinned.

  "How did you know I was here," Dave asked.

  Monique looked confused. "We got your text."

  "My text," Dave looked perplexed.

  TJ and Monique exchanged questioning glances. Suddenly Dave's face lit up.

  "Of course, my email, that was good work, TJ."

  TJ looked thoughtfully at Dave. "It was a good idea to have us masquerading as waiters."

  "Yes, I thought that was a good touch too." Dave smiled.

  Monique shot TJ another glance.

  "So what do we do now?" TJ asked.

  "We call th
e police, and get this guy thrown in jail," he replied.

  "But we hit him," Monique interjected.

  "Here’s the gun," TJ observed. lifting menu. “The police won’t have a problem with this.”

  Dave's phone chirped. He glanced at it quickly.

  "I don't think we should call the police. Whoever he is, I think he will be useful to us in the future."

  “You’re kidding,” TJ retorted incredulously. “Did you just look into your crystal ball and see…”

  TJ stopped mid-sentence and scrutinized Dave.

  “Dave, is there something you need to tell us? Something really important?”

  He stared at her, and then remembered something.

  “He killed Garg. Or at least he claims he did.”

  “What,” TJ was furious, “Then we are calling the police.”

  “I told you, we need him later.”

  TJ grabbed the salt cellar from Monique. “Then I’m going to take care of the bastard myself unless you tell me how you know that.”

  He studied her determined face.

  “Ok, let’s get out of here first.”

  “No,” TJ raised the salt cellar, “you tell me before I let this scum live.”

  There was a knock at the door. "Boss, are you in there?"

  Monique grabbed salt cellar and positioned herself behind the door. TJ sauntered to the door and held out a hand.

  "My turn."

  Monique handed over the salt cellar. The door opened and a large man walked into the room. TJ smacked him smartly on the top of the head. The man crumpled to the floor.

  "Let's go," TJ whispered and led the way out of the room.

  PayPal

  Wednesday 2:57 p.m.

  The screensaver on Dave's workstation flicked off, and three web browsers opened. Without human intervention, each browser quickly set up a PayPal account with funds from several of Dave’s accounts, then closed. Four new web browsers opened and rapidly accessed a series of e-commerce sites, placing orders, each sent express to an address in