by Caron Todd
Liz went outside.
AFTER HIS BANK MANAGER’S CALL, Jack had bought a second laptop, identical to the one Reid and the others had already tried to hack. He’d copied all his files, all but the code, onto the new machine, wrapped the original in a dustcover and secreted it in the crawl space under the kitchen floor—difficult to find, especially if the searcher wasn’t familiar with the idiosyncrasies of old houses. He hadn’t counted on a situation developing that would end with him telling thieves where to find it.
He could kick himself. Why had he ever thought he could keep the algorithm safely hidden? His precautions so far were useless, worse than a game. Everything had hinged on Reid. On Reid believing the code no longer existed, on Reid’s loyalty. It was a given that if information about the code got out someone would come looking for it. Someone with the means and the will to get it.
Using his own laptop, Reid easily made a new boot disk to open the Linux partition. Jack entered the password without being asked and his long-hidden files opened.
“Well?” Croker said.
Reid leaned over Jack’s shoulder. “It’s encrypted. As we expected.”
Croker’s hand landed heavily on Jack’s shoulder. “You can save us some time, get us out of here sooner. Whatever code you’ve used, one we can break, or your own, you’ve got the key. Just get this gibberish into a state I can use, and I’ll be gone.”
Webb had started pacing. Barely raising his voice, Croker told him to settle down. He turned back to Jack. “The key, McKinnon. Now.”
Jack had taken particular pleasure in hiding the key. He’d hoped to keep it safe for itself, regardless of its use. He leafed through his sheet music and found the piece Liz couldn’t hum. He’d decrypt the files, and they’d open. Reid and Croker would see the algorithm for a few seconds, and so would he, one last look. Then his final precaution would activate.
SHE RAN FROM THE LIGHTS of the house into the yard, slipping on the path. She couldn’t believe she’d got out, that Scott hadn’t stopped her, that the others hadn’t been aware of something, noise or fear or her brain rushing from one thought to another. She looked longingly at Jack’s truck. If only she had the keys.
Keeping one eye on the house, she eased her way to the truck. She placed her hands on the ice-cold metal and heaved herself up to stand on a tire. She couldn’t see a thing, but she knew there was a pile of burlap sacks inside. She leaned in, feeling around. There. She pulled an armload of burlap toward her and jumped to the ground.
The road or the woods? The road would be easier going, but if Scott changed his mind, and they came after her, they would find her in a minute. She headed down her usual path to the woods, the hard packed snow painful against her stockinged feet. She was thankful to reach the shelter of the trees. It was darker there. The path curved, hidden by crisscrossing branches. After all her trips back and forth, she could remember the twists and turns, but if they followed they’d have a challenge. She paused to tie some sacks over her feet, then tore a hole in the bottom of a few more and layered them over her head. It wasn’t much, but it helped.
Already, she was shivering. The snow reflected enough moonlight that she could see where she was going, just barely. Shuffling awkwardly in the layers of loose burlap, she tried to run, only once going straight ahead when she should have turned. Whenever she heard a crackling sound deeper in the woods, she refused to let herself think about wildlife and instead replayed Croker’s voice and pictured those two traitors, Reid and Scott.
Now she was in her grandmother’s woods. She hurried on, her breath coming in shuddering gasps, shooting cold air deep into her lungs. Light shone from the house, and from the colored lights on the evergreens in the yard. What if they’d followed? What if she’d led them to Eleanor?
She heard barking. Two dark shapes barreled toward her. Liz bent to get hold of the dogs. They whined and sniffed her face anxiously. If only they were like Lassie and would go tell the humans what was wrong.
The kitchen door swung open. Uncle Will was silhouetted against the light inside. “Who’s there?” His booming voice gave her the energy she needed. She was halfway to the door when he recognized her. “It’s Liz!” Figures streamed outside. Brian and Tom, Pam and Martin, Emily and Jennifer. And Daniel. Why Daniel?
“Jack—”
“Don’t worry,” Tom said. “We’ll take care of it.”
“We’ve figured it out,” Martin said. “We’ve figured something out, anyway.” He went on, talking about computers and bugs and suspicious cars and a strange man asking questions in Pine Point. Tom tried to lift her, but she wouldn’t let him, so he got an arm around her and helped her into the house. Voices all around exclaimed that she had no coat, no shoes. Eleanor called for blankets. It was hard to form words with her teeth banging together. Then she saw the guns. Shotguns and hunting rifles. No one got a gun out at all unless it was hunting season or coyotes were bothering the cattle. They were always locked up. Now they were out, and they were meant to deal with people.
JACK HEARD A SMALL SOUND from Croker when the program opened. The fulfillment of his quest. Lucky guy. Not everyone got to see their personal Holy Grail. He counted the seconds. Five, four, three…
Without warning or fanfare, the symbols on the screen dissolved.
“What?” Croker wasn’t mad yet. “What happened?”
Jack looked at the empty screen. At least Liz had stayed quiet upstairs after that first squeak of the floorboards. They had no reason to go up. No reason to go to Eleanor’s.
Croker gripped the back of Jack’s chair. “I asked you a question.”
Jack got up slowly, moving so his back was to the kitchen counter. He wanted to be able to see all three men. Scott’s heart wasn’t in this. Reid…he had no idea how far Reid would go. Croker was the one to watch if things got wild. “The files are gone, Croker. They deleted themselves.”
“Deleted themselves?” Croker repeated.
“I programmed the files so that if they were opened and I didn’t enter a specific pattern of keystrokes within a certain time, they would self-delete.”
At first, Croker’s face was as blank as the monitor, then rage flowed in. Out of the corner of his eye Jack saw Scott back toward the door and out of it.
Reid spoke urgently. “He’ll have a copy! Jack, tell him. Where is it? Did you burn a CD? That’s what I’d do.”
There had been a couple of tough streets between Jack and his school when he was a boy, so Jerry had taught him how to defend himself. He’d only needed to use his lessons once, when a couple of older kids had tried to relieve him of the money he’d collected from his paper route, so he hadn’t built up much expertise. Watching Croker’s anger build, he reviewed the basics of a solid punch, and when Croker came at him, he let go, sending all the power he could from his shoulder and down his arm to his fist. He felt the impact in his elbow. His hand was going to hurt when the adrenaline left his body.
Croker crumbled onto the floor.
Both surprised, Jack and Reid stared at each other.
“Was it just the three of you?”
“Croker has guys of the faceless goon variety working with him. I don’t know where they are. I don’t even know who he works for.” Reid seemed shaken. Or angry. Jack wasn’t sure which. If he said the whole thing had gotten away on him, that he never would have allowed any harm to come to Liz or Eleanor, Jack could forgive the rest.
Croker moaned and tried to move. He didn’t look ready to function, but to be on the safe side Jack tied his hands behind his back with a tea towel. The leather coat came open, exposing a shoulder holster. Jack had never seen anyone but a cop carry a handgun. Should he remove it, in which case a gun would be floating around in the same room as Reid, or leave it snapped in place?
There was a clicking sound. Jack looked up. Reid didn’t need Croker’s gun. He had his own.
“Come off it, Reid.”
“You come off it.” Barely suppressed anger filled Reid’s voi
ce. “Off your high horse. Off your pedestal. You think this is a game?”
“I haven’t thought that for a while.”
“Sure you have. Right up to now. You were ready to pop a couple of Labatt’s a minute ago, if I looked sheepish and chagrined enough. You’re going to have to take me more seriously.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” The word was like a small explosion. “Don’t patronize me, Jack. I know my brain isn’t quite up to your high standard—”
“Reid.”
“—but it’s managed to turn your life upside down and it’s going to keep on doing that. You have a code and I have a gun. Q.E.D.” He gave a tight smile. “Where’s the other copy, Jack?”
Muscle memory. Jack saw his uncle in the apartment living room lunging toward him with a spoon to simulate a weapon. Lift, swing from the hip, release. The kick worked just the way Jerry had told him it would. The gun flew across the room and Reid cried out, clutching his hand. Jack dived for him, and they both landed hard on the kitchen floor.
“That was well done,” someone said.
Figures appeared at the back door and in the doorway to the living room. Jack couldn’t get a good look. Even though he could hardly use his right hand, Reid was putting up a fight. It seemed to be the entire Robb family, cradling guns pointed at the floor.
Will said, “Looks like you have everything under control, Jack.”
A knee colliding with his stomach kept Jack from answering. He was trying to subdue Reid without hurting him. “Would you check on Liz?” he gasped. “She’s upstairs.”
“Liz is fine. Chilly, but fine. Likely having tea with her grandma by now.”
Daniel picked up Reid’s gun and showed it to Brian. “What do you want to bet that’s not registered?”
“Need a hand, Jack?” Tom asked.
“Nope.” This was his friend, and he was going to deal with him. Jack grabbed hold of Reid’s shirt. “Can’t you keep still? Look at all the people in this room. You’re not going anywhere. I don’t want to hit you again.”
That reinforcements had arrived seemed to be news to Reid. He stopped struggling and looked around the kitchen. He gave a half smile. “I guess I lose, you win.”
REID AND CROKER HAD ALREADY been transferred to Ottawa, where people from CSIS and the RCMP Technical Security Branch were lining up to talk to them. Scott was under lock and key in Pine Point. He was low in the pecking order, hired because Croker believed he could keep an eye on Jack’s comings and goings. It was a few days before the police finished asking questions and everyone settled down enough to get together again for the pre-Christmas visit at Eleanor’s.
The table was set for eighteen. Jack hadn’t arrived yet. Everyone else was there, noisy by the tree and in the kitchen. They were still talking about Liz’s stocking-foot trek through the woods and the Robb men’s descent on Jack’s house. It was the best kind of story, because everyone felt like a hero.
Liz went to the kitchen when she saw Bella and Dora trot to the door with that puppyish enthusiasm they only showed for one person. There was a figure in the yard, standing still, staring at the house. She grabbed a coat without checking to see if it was hers and hurried outside. Light snow had started to fall, big, soft, slow flakes.
“Jack? We’re waiting for you.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. She wasn’t sure if that meant he didn’t know or he didn’t plan to tell her. He put his hands on her shoulders, gently, as if she were breakable, then kissed her forehead. “You came so close to getting hurt. It never entered my mind that anything I did could harm another person. I’m sorry, Liz. You and Eleanor…”
“We’re fine, Jack.”
“I didn’t take the risk seriously enough. I put you in danger.”
“You took care of everything. You safeguarded the code. When it needed to be done, you destroyed it.”
He wasn’t reassured. “You see couples all over the place. It seems so easy. But look at my father—he was driving the night they died.”
“And look at me, the night Andy died.”
“No—”
“Yes. We’ll just muck along as best we can, two despicably imperfect people.”
Jack smiled at the description. Snowflakes rested unmelting on his hair, their patterns as clear as paper cutouts. Her mind’s eye filed the image away, then zoomed in on the light gray eyes full of purpose, on the gloved hand reaching out, then touching her face. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his woolen palm.
“Are you two coming in?” Tom was in the doorway. “The kids are waiting with their letters.”
They hurried to the house and hung up their coats before joining the others in the living room. In the corner by the front window the tree Tom and Jennifer had found stood tall, the star Grandpa had made brushing the ceiling. Nell stared, transfixed, her hair multicolored. Anne and young Will looked for the gingerbread men they’d made earlier. Tonight, they were allowed to eat them.
Uncle Will raised his voice. “Who’s got letters for Santa?”
Nell turned, uncertain. Her eyes searched the darkened room. “Here, sweetie,” Pat said. Her hand stretched out, holding a paper covered in crayon scribble.
Jennifer bent over so her face was near Nell’s. “Want some help, Nellie girl?” No amount of cajoling could get the toddler close to the fireplace, though, and she refused to give up her letter. Finally, she ran crying to Martin, who retreated to the sofa with her, quietly singing “Jingle Bells.”
When Jennifer and young Will had sent their letters up the chimney, Jack approached the fireplace with a thick wad of paper, a number of sheets folded many times.
“Whoa,” Tom said. “That’s quite a list. What are you asking for, Jack?”
“Never you mind.”
Anne said, “Grown-ups don’t put lists up the chimney.”
Jack caught Liz’s eye before dropping the paper into the flames. She came to his side, and leaned close enough to speak into his ear. “Another copy? A paper copy?”
“I’m an old-fashioned guy. That’s the last one. It was in a safety deposit box in Pine Point.”
“I’m sorry you had to do that. Did it hurt?”
“Not a bit.”
“Jack.”
“Hmm?”
“Will you marry me?”
His arms came around her, hands locked over the small of her back. “You know I will.”
“Whispering is rude,” Anne said. “That’s what I’ve always been told.”
“I’m not sure what we’ll do with two big old houses.”
“I think we’ll keep the slightly warmer one.”
“And we’ll keep the transplant bed.”
“Land and insulation. That’s what matters.” Jack’s expression became serious, and a bit uncertain, the way she’d learned it did when he was about to get personal. His mouth was right beside her ear, and his breath tickled her as he talked. “And you. Knowing you makes my life so much richer. To spend it all with you…I can’t believe my luck.”
Jennifer jumped up and down near the tree. “Look, Liz and Mr. McKinnon are kissing.”
“Jennifer, shush.”
“In public,” Anne said.
“Well,” said Edith. “I had no idea things had gone this far. Of course, you people have said things, but you know how I am. I don’t pay attention to gossip. I wonder…do you suppose she’d let me make the cake?”
“Liz’s mom will want to make the cake.”
“I don’t know about that,” Will said. “Jack’s a man of means, apparently. He’ll likely want to hire one of those caterers that charges more than any sensible person pays for a house—”
“That’s enough.” Eleanor’s voice was firm. “Leave them alone.”
“They won’t, you know,” Liz whispered.
Jack smiled. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3658-5
THE H
OUSE ON CREEK ROAD
Copyright © 2003 by Caron Hart.
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