Barry Eisler

by Fault Line 01 - Fault Line (v5)

  He tried to say something, but … he didn’t. Maybe he was afraid to speak, afraid that if he did, he would lose control. Or that he’d say something wrong and make it worse. So he said nothing instead. His parents kept crying. Eventually his mom got up and left, and his dad followed her.

  Part of him understood they needed to have the rest of the conversation now, that otherwise it wouldn’t happen ever. But another part of him whispered that his parents were already bearing as much as they could; he needed to leave them alone for a while. There would be other opportunities for him to admit his guilt, sometime in the future when it could be discussed to the tune of a little less confusion and agony.

  And he’d listened to that second voice. Just as he’d listened when Katie had told him, No, he’s cool. He’d listened to what he’d wanted to hear.

  Jesus, two turning points in as many days. And he’d gone the wrong way at both.

  Why weren’t those turning points marked? LETHAL CURVE AHEAD. CAUTION. Something like that. Something that might warn you: Hey, the seemingly humdrum decision you’re about to face? It’s actually your whole fucking life.

  Ben sighed and shook his head. Then he went out to find an Internet café and a public phone.

  14 NO NONSENSE

  There was a knock on Alex’s door. Wanda, the receptionist, poked her head in.

  “Alex, I have a call from someone asking for you who won’t identify himself and insists that I should come get you personally and bring you up front to take the call there. What do you want me to do?”

  Alex thought, What the hell? And then, Ben.

  But why was he calling on the office line? How did he even know the number?

  “Sure, I’ll come take it,” he said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

  He walked down to Wanda’s station. Wanda pressed a button and handed him the receiver.

  “This is Alex,” he said.

  “I got your message.” Ben’s voice.

  There was a pause. Alex said, “How did—”

  “Give me a number to call you back on, something not connected to you. The woman who answered the phone—is she carrying a cell phone? Ask her to borrow it.”

  Alex asked Wanda if he could borrow her phone for a moment. She gave him the number and he passed it along to Ben.

  “I’ll call you back,” Ben said, and the line went dead.

  Alex smiled at Wanda as he took her phone. “Paranoid client. New technology. Does something like this every time he wants to talk to me. I’ll just be in the conference room for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

  Wanda gave him a slow ooo-kay nod. Her phone was already buzzing as Alex stepped into the conference room and closed the door behind him. He opened the phone and said, “How did you know to call me here?”

  “You’re not in your office, are you?”

  “No, I’m standing in an empty conference room. How did you know to call here?”

  “It’s the middle of the morning out there. Where else would you be?”

  “I mean, how did you know where I work?”

  “Your e-mail address has the domain name sullivangreenwald. I Googled the names.”

  Oh. He should have realized that. “Well, why bother? I left you my cell phone number. What’s all this about?”

  “I don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, or with who. E-mail is insecure. Cell phone signals can be intercepted. Your office could be bugged, your line might be tapped. It’s less likely someone would tap the general line into your office because that’s not the line you would be expected to talk on. It wasn’t perfect, but I didn’t have a better way to respond to your e-mail. Okay?”

  Alex was simultaneously rattled and reassured. Rattled at how easily someone could pinpoint his whereabouts. Reassured because obviously Ben knew all about this stuff. On top of both, he resented the lecture. He suppressed the feeling and explained what had happened.

  When he was done, Ben said, “So you’re saying the inventor was killed, the patent examiner was killed, and you were about to be killed, because of this new technology.”

  “You think that’s crazy?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “On a lot of things. But three incidents in thirty-six hours … that’s a lot of coincidence to swallow.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “You talk to the police?”

  “Yeah. They seem to think it’s a collection of random events. It doesn’t look like there’s much they can do.”

  “So? What are you going to do?”

  Why the hell do you think I’m calling you? he wanted to shout. I don’t know what to do.

  He fumed for another moment, then said, “I don’t know.”

  There was a long silence. Ben said, “You have something to write on?”

  Alex pulled over a notepad on the conference room table and picked up a pen. “Yeah.”

  “Turn off your cell phone and leave it off. You can check your voice mail from random pay phones. Stay away from home for a few days. Go to the bank—not your usual branch—and take out a lot of cash. Don’t go to the places you usually go and don’t use your usual routes. Check into a hotel. Pay cash for everything, don’t use your credit cards, don’t use your name. Don’t allow yourself to wind up anywhere where there are no other people around. Stop being polite and start being suspicious.”

  Alex wrote fast. “I need to come to work—”

  “What if you had the flu? What would you do then?”

  “I’d still come in.”

  “I’ll bet you would, too. Ever miss a day because you were sick?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Then the boss won’t give you a hard time. Be deathly ill with the flu for a few days. Tell them you’re working at home. They’ll expect you to be sleeping a lot, that’s why you won’t be answering your cell phone if someone calls.”

  “What good is this going to do? I’ll just have to—”

  “I don’t know what you’re up against here,” Ben said, “assuming you’re up against anything. But the smart thing is to act as if.”

  “Act as if what?”

  “You still writing?”

  God, he hated the way Ben cut him off. Like the two extra seconds it would take to listen would be too much of a waste of his valuable time.

  “Yeah, I’m still writing.”

  “First chance you get, go to a Web site. Nononsenseselfdefense.com. One word. Bring a cup of coffee, you’ll be there a while. You need to get smart about paying attention to your environment and thinking like the opposition. That Web site is a good place to start learning how not to be a soft target.”

  “Fine, I’ll go to the Web site. And I’ll have the flu for a few days. Then what?”

  “I’ll be out there before then.”

  Alex was surprised. “You’re coming?”

  “I just said I was, didn’t I?”

  “But my cell phone will be off, how will I—”

  “I’ll find you.”

  The line went dead.

  Alex looked at the phone for a moment, suddenly gripped by rage. He realized he was hoping to have it both ways—get Ben to come out here, but not have to actually ask him. And he’d managed it, too— except the way Ben had said it, it was as though he knew exactly what Alex was up to but had decided to humor him anyway.

  And the way he’d hung up on him, too. Like the whole thing was such a pain in the ass for him he couldn’t be bothered to even say goodbye.

  That, or he just wanted to get off before Alex had a chance to say thank you.

  Well, the hell with that. Alex wasn’t going to say it.

  15 FOR THE SAKE OF ARGUMENT

  It all felt like paranoia, but in the end, Alex decided he’d better listen to Ben. He went home to meet the locksmith and get the front door taken care of, but after that he checked back into the Four Seasons. He called Alisa and told her he had the flu and would be
working at home, probably for a couple of days. And he e-mailed Osborne, giving him the bare bones about Hilzoy and telling him he’d fill him in on the rest when he was back in the office.

  Staying at the hotel wasn’t bad. It was luxurious, the food was good, and he liked the fitness center. And what the hell, it wasn’t as though he ever took a real vacation. This was as close as he was likely to get. He checked out nononsenseselfdefense.com, and Ben had been right. There was a lot of information, and even though the subject was pretty alien to him, it seemed to make good sense.

  The problem was, everything that had happened in the last few days was beginning to feel … weird, improbable, like an odd smell he could dispel if he could just get back to his normal life. He was surprised at how strong the urge was to go into the office, see the usual people, take the usual calls, go home at the end of the day. It was as though he’d been told not to scratch at a scab, and the itch was now driving him crazy.

  He started to wonder if he’d blown the whole thing out of proportion. Was it so hard to believe Hilzoy had been dealing drugs? And Hank—sad as it was, young people did have heart attacks from time to time. And the police certainly seemed to think the break-in at his house was a random thing. Maybe it all had been just a giant coincidence. Add a big case of the nervousness it all induced, and it was no wonder everything had started to smell like a conspiracy.

  On his second evening there, he was having a solitary dinner in the hotel’s restaurant when he looked up to see Ben walking toward him. He knew it was Ben from the walk even before he saw the face. It was a wrestler’s walk, slightly bowlegged, but more than anything else it was confident, relaxed, the kind of walk you see on someone who not only thinks he owns the place but is probably right about it. Alex had always been jealous of that walk. When they were kids, he’d secretly tried to imitate it.

  He stood and tried to think of something to say, but all that came out was, “Ben.”

  Ben was wearing jeans, boots, a dark shirt, a wool jacket. A leather bag was slung over a shoulder. His brother didn’t look much older. He still had the linebacker’s physique, that air of readiness and Don’t mess with me. His hair was longer and he had a stubble of beard; that was new. He was looking around the restaurant as though assessing it, and Alex realized from what he’d read on the nononsenseselfdefense Web site that Ben was evaluating the environment tactically. So people really did this stuff. Up until that moment, Alex had half believed it was all a game.

  Ben turned his eyes on Alex and looked him up and down. “How you doing, Alex?”

  Alex wanted to hold out his hand but didn’t. “All right. You?”

  Ben nodded. “You were sitting with your back to the wall. You went to the Web site?”

  “How did you know how to find me here?”

  “I told you I’d find you.”

  “How?”

  Ben glanced around again. “There are, what, three good hotels in Palo Alto and Menlo Park? And this is the newest and the best. It was the first one I called. You’re checked in under your own name. I told you not to do that.”

  “I’d already checked in—”

  “And your car’s parked in the general parking lot.”

  “So?”

  “You should use the valet. Waiting for you in a car parked near yours would be the best way to get to you here.”

  “How did you even know which car is mine?”

  “All it takes is access to the DMV. Whoever you’re having a problem with wouldn’t even need that, they might have just watched you getting in and out of it elsewhere. Circle the parking lot checking plates … bam. Nice little M3, by the way.”

  The way Ben said it, it all sounded obvious. But how was he supposed to know? He wished he could catch Ben trying to figure out what prior art to use in a patent application, or how to code in C++, or a dozen other things. He could make him feel stupid, too.

  “Another thing,” Ben said. “You’re parked way down at that slope, at the exterior of the parking garage. It’s deserted down there. How easy are you trying to make things for the bad guys? You could have at least parked at the top, near the office complex, where people are coming and going.”

  “The parking lot was full when I got here,” Alex said, seriously beginning to resent the lectures. “Top to bottom. It was business hours. It must empty out at night.”

  He thought, Now he’s going to tell me I should have thought of that. Instead, Ben said, “I could use something to eat. Mind if we switch seats?”

  Alex got up and Ben took his seat. Ben picked up Alex’s plate of half-eaten food and moved it across the table. Alex said, “You want to get a menu?”

  “Nah, I’ll just have what you’re having.”

  A waiter came over. Alex said, “Another wild mushroom ravioli with Taleggio. And another glass of the Sophie’s Rows.”

  “No, no wine,” Ben said.

  “Very good,” the waiter said, and moved off.

  “You don’t like wine?” Alex said, knowing it was stupid but feeling it was a personal rebuff all the same.

  “Not really, no. Especially not after a long trip.”

  “Where are you coming in from?”

  “Europe.”

  “Did you not know Europe is a continent?” Alex asked, letting the full sarcastic Hello? into his tone.

  Ben looked at him and didn’t say anything, and Alex felt a wave of satisfaction.

  “I mean, you might as well say, ‘I came from somewhere on earth.’”

  Ben was still looking at him. “If I want you to know more,” he said, “I’ll tell you.”

  “Yeah, I won’t hold my breath.”

  “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said tonight.”

  Alex turned away, pissed. At Ben, for being such an asshole. And even more so at himself, for having called him in the first place. God, was he really that desperate?

  Unfortunately, he really was.

  After they ate, they went up to Alex’s room. Alex noted that Ben had a certain way of walking. He moved slowly, as though he was just taking his time, and his head seemed always to be sweeping back and forth. And he left a large margin when he went around corners, as though to give himself more time and space to see what was on the other side of them. There was nothing ostentatious in any of this; in fact, it was subtle, and Alex realized he wouldn’t have noticed at all if Ben hadn’t told him to read about it.

  Alex unlocked the door and went in first. Ben hung back, and for a moment, Alex was a little thrown by his deference in waiting. But then he came in and checked out the room—closet, bathroom, under the bed—and Alex realized the wait had only been tactical, a way to let Alex run into trouble first, if there was any. And before Alex had a chance to digest what all that might mean, Ben was back to his usual ways. He plopped into the sleek upholstered chair overlooking Highway 101 as if Alex were visiting him, and said, “All right. Any additional incidents?”

  Alex swallowed his confusion and irritation and pulled over the desk chair so they were facing each other. “No.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “How do you mean?”

  Ben shrugged. “An intruder in the house in the middle of the night … even if it was random, that’s unsettling.”

  “Well, I feel unsettled.”

  There was a moment of quiet. Ben said, “That was pretty good presence of mind you showed there, improvising a weapon.”

  Alex nodded, looking at him.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll want to see the house and your office. For now—”

  “I thought you said I had to stay away from the usual places?”

  “You do. I’ll be with you tomorrow, that’s different. For now, I want you to tell me more about the technology. Obsidian, it’s called?”

  Alex told him. When he was done, Ben said, “So, why would someone not just buy this thing? Why would someone kill the inventor, the patent examiner, and the lawyer who applied for the patent?”

  “Because �
� they don’t want anyone to even know about Obsidian?”

  Ben yawned. “Sounds like it, from what you’ve told me.”

  “It still doesn’t make sense. This isn’t the kind of stuff that’s dual use, nuclear capable, whatever. It’s a security algorithm. It’s just a better way of protecting networks. It’s like someone trying to kill a guy for inventing, I don’t know, a better door lock.”

  “Well, who’s against better door locks?”

  Alex thought for a moment, then said, “Burglars.”

  “There you go. Maybe you’re dealing with someone who’s able to break into houses just fine the way it is. He doesn’t want better locks. Or he wants to be the only home owner with a lock as good as this one, so burglars will be someone else’s problem. Or maybe there’s a use you don’t know about, something someone else spotted.”

  “So you think there could be something to this?”

  Ben rotated his head, cracking the neck joints. “Maybe, maybe not. The inventor seemed to be dealing heroin. That’s a high-risk profession. The patent examiner had a heart condition—”

  “Yeah, but couldn’t something like that be faked? I mean, like someone killed him, but made it look like a heart attack?”

  “That kind of thing is easier to do in the movies than it is in the real world. Supposedly there was a guy once, Japanese or half or something like that, who could reliably bring it off, but I think he’s a myth. Anyway, people say he’s retired.”

  “What if he’s not? Just for the sake of argument, say the patent examiner was killed. Say whoever broke into the house was trying to kill me.”

  “Okay, for the sake of argument. The patent guy was killed. But the guy who broke into the house wasn’t trying to kill you.”

  “What do you mean? Why would—”

  “I can think of several reasons, but killing you, at least right then, wasn’t one of them.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “Alex, he knows where you live. If he knows where you live, he knows where you work. You get to work early, right?”