“Any new word?” Sarah asked, entering the doorway.
“No,” Candace answered. “It’s the same as before.”
Harry sat in a chair next to the hospital bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Candace wrapped her arm around Harry and held her head against his, her long black hair draping over his face. Sarah came over and put her hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“It’s only been a couple of weeks, Dad. He’ll come out of it.”
“This is my fault. I never should have sent him on that trip.”
“Harry, it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just one of those things that happen. Chris was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Candace took her husband’s hand in hers.
“No. He was supposed to be there, Dad.” Sarah peeled off her black jacket. A picture of a heart, being pierced by a bullet, covered the back of the jacket. The caption read “A bullet for my valentine. “If Chris hadn’t been there, think of all the people who would’ve died. We would’ve died.”
Harry lifted his head. “I can’t believe that he would have willingly given up his life for us.” His voice cracked. “You’re not supposed to outlive your children.”
“It’s getting late, you guys,” Ted said without turning from the window. “Why don’t you grab something to eat? I’ll stay with Chris.”
It had become their habit. Harry stopped by after work every day and met Candace in Chris’ room. Candace came early in the afternoon. Sarah came and went though out the day as her schedule permitted. Ted practically lived there.
Ted turned back to the room. Chris lay there in the bed, hoses running out of his nose, tubes attached to the back of his hand, wires disappearing under his gown. God damn it! Once again, moisture swelled up in his eyes.
Chris had survived. The Coast Guard plucked him out of the water and flew him to an emergency room in Vancouver. After treatment there, he was airlifted to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle. He had been in a coma ever since.
The terrorist story had been big news. For a week or so, it was in the newspapers and on TV. “UW Grads Save Cruise Ship” the headlines shouted. Ted was tired of seeing the same old footage of the cruise ship, the Coast Guard rescue, still photos of the Canadian terrorist who had done this terrible thing.
For a brief moment, Ted, Chris and Meagan’s pictures had been on the news every night. He was sick of seeing the sound bites of himself, microphone shoved in his face.
“How does it feel to be a hero?” the TV newswoman asked him as he climbed out of the Mercy Flight helicopter. Hero? Man was that ever wrong. He was scared shitless. He couldn’t even remember thinking. He had just been there.
Jack, all of the Canadian soldiers, the two fishermen, the terrorists themselves. All dead. What for? What had it proved?
“Mr. Higuera,” the newswoman pleaded. “Why did you save the cruise ship?” Over five thousand people had been aboard. The Exocet missile had suddenly flown straight up and exploded in the sky. He didn’t know why, he had nothing to do with it. He wasn’t a hero, just a tanto who had gotten his friends shot up.
The story quickly faded from the public consciousness. A hurricane in the Gulf, oil prices, the War in Iraq. Other things pushed the story from the headlines. Occasionally, there would be a page-three article giving a little more background of one of the terrorists or detailing the story of one of the JTF2 soldiers who had lost their lives in the attack.
For Ted, the story wouldn’t relegate itself to page three. Every day began and ended with the guilt of surviving. He spent more time at the hospital than he did at home. He couldn’t bring himself to get back into the swing of things with Chris hanging on by a thread. His only purpose in life was caring for Oscar. Meagan’s cat moved in with him and now ruled Chris and Ted’s house.
“Have you heard back from InfoSec?” Sarah asked.
“No. I think they’ve moved on. I guess I should too.” The lucrative offer that Ted had waiting for him had dried up. He hadn’t been able to go back to work yet. They wouldn’t wait for him.
“What are you going to do now?” Sarah fussed unnecessarily with Chris’ blankets.
“I don’t know.” Ted leaned back against the window and studied the ceiling. “I have this feeling that I have to do something . . . make a difference. I feel like I’ve been given a second chance at life and I need to use it wisely. I want to fight people that do things like this.”
“Good for you,” Harry stirred from his reverie. “I think you’re right. It’s time for all of us to stand up for what we believe in. Do you have any idea how you’re going to do that?”
Ted folded his arms and looked down on Harry. “No. . . Not yet. I have to think about it. I want to be able to use what I’ve learned, studied for, in some positive way. Guarding some corporation’s databases just doesn’t seem like enough anymore.”
“What can you do?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know. I feel like I’ve got to stand up for the little guy. There were five thousand little guys on that boat that almost got killed. If someone wasn’t there to protect them, what would’ve happened?”
“Come on, Harry, let’s go get some dinner.” Candace got up from her chair. “Do you want to come with us, Sarah?”
Sarah reached for her purse. “Sure. I’ll come back by after we eat so Ted can get out.”
****
Ted sat in the chair with Chris’ hand in his. The local TV news magazine was running a follow-up story on the attack. He hated it, but he couldn’t turn the channel. The TV camera crew that had been aboard the cruise ship captured much of the incident on film.
He couldn’t stop watching the Coast Guard plucking them from the sea, the field of wreckage that had once been two boats floating in the water, bodies bobbing up and down. He re-lived those few horrible moments again and again. He saw Jack’s body, pierced by bullets lying on the cockpit floor, Chris crumpled under the helmsman’s seat, the neat, single hole in his chest. But the biggest horror of all was the blood running into his eyes. He couldn’t sleep at night because he dreamed about Meagan, her life oozing out into his eyes.
He felt a slight squeeze on his hand.
“Dude?” Ted didn’t believe what he was seeing.
Chris’ eyes fluttered. Slowly, those deep blue eyes opened. They showed no sign of recognition.
“Mom?”
“Dude! You’re awake.”
“Mom. . . I was with my Mom. . . Where am I?”
Ted threw himself on Chris and wrapped his arms around him.
“Uhh.”
“Sorry, dude. You’re in Harborview. Back in Seattle.”
“Did. . . did we make it?”
“Yeah, man. We made it. We stopped them.”
“What happened? I don’t remember anything.”
“The Mounties arrived just in time, dude. They came from under the water and swarmed over the boat. There was a big gun fight and the missile was launched, but it flew straight up and exploded. It missed the ship.”
“Dad? Sarah?”
“They’re OK.” Ted could see the relief in Chris’ eyes.
“Jack, I remember Jack.”
“Jack didn’t make it.” Ted felt his heart constricting. “He was shot up pretty bad.”
Chris digested this news for a moment. “Meagan, where’s Meagan?”
How do I tell him? “She . . .” Ted couldn’t bring himself to verbalize the words. “Didn’t make it either . . .” How do I live with this? “I’m really sorry.”
“Meagan . . .”
****
Ottawa, Canada
Pierre Chasson was particularly full of himself. He had copies of all the major metropolitan newspapers on his desk. The headlines screamed “JTF2 Thwarts Terrorist Attack.”
He owned JTF2. He had lost six men, but saved thousands.
“I think you and your team are owed a big thank you,” Chasson said.
“We got lucky, sir,” Jean Broussard replied, pulling the ubiquitous m
anila folder from her red leather brief case. “If not for those American kids . . .”
“I’ll take lucky. What else do you have for me?”
“We’re just wrapping this up now.” Jean sat across from his desk. “We found evidence in the camp that you’ll want to see.” She handed him the folder.
“The first picture is our old friend Qayyum ali Adham. He was there. We think he was the leader of this attack. We have forensic evidence placing him in the camp. He financed it, planned it, did everything but die in it. We have a report of him meeting this man,” she handed Chasson a second folder, “in the Philippines.”
“This isn’t an Arab.”
“No sir. That is Yves Bouhier. We suspect he’s an arms dealer. His cover is buying and selling used industrial equipment. He was in BC most of the summer. We think he may have supplied the missiles.”
“Can we nail him?”
“We don’t have enough evidence. He’s very careful, very smart. He never gets his hands dirty. Works through a series of intermediaries. We don’t have anything we can bring him in on.”
“We can’t issue a warrant?”
“There’s nothing we can charge him with. We have enough on ali Adham for a conviction. If we can ever get our hands on him. He’s as slippery as bin Laden.”
“But this Bouhier? He’s been seen with ali Adham?”
“Yes sir.”
“And you’re sure he supplied the materiel?”
“Yes sir.”
“And you can find him”
“Yes sir.”
“Make him disappear.”
Post Script
I hope you enjoyed your first foray into Ted Higuera’s world.
Reviews are the life blood of independent writers. I need your reviews to give my work credibility and convince new readers to take a chance on an unknown author. I ask you to write a review of The Inside Passage on Amazon.com, GoodReads or where ever you go for your book information. Thank you so much, it means the world to me.
I’d love to hear your comments and criticisms. Who knows, maybe some of your ideas will appear in a future Ted Higuera novel. To contact me click here or use the contact form at http://www.pennwallace.com/contact-penn.html.
Ted and Chris will be back in Hacker for Hire.
For now, if you liked this story, you can browse my other books and short stories at www.pennwallace.com.
Pendelton C. Wallace
12/20/2013
On board the sailing vessel Victory
La Paz, Mexico
Coming Soon . . .
Continue to follow Ted and Chris’ adventures in Hacker for Hire.
Hacker for Hire takes place immediately after Ted and Chris return to Seattle from their adventures on the Inside Passage.
Hacker for Hire is a story of corporate greed and industrial espionage. Computer security analyst Ted Higuera is hired by a large corporation to find a leak in their corporate boardroom when the previous investigator is found floating in Elliot Bay. Can Ted find the killer before the killer finds him? Will he be free to find the killer when the DA presses charges for felony computer trespass in the first degree?
Enjoy a preview of the first chapter.
Hacker for Hire will be available in the summer of 2014.
Hacker For Hire
By
Pendelton C. Wallace
Chapter 1
Justin McCormack pulled his long brown hair back into a pony tail, curled it on top of his head and secured it with hair pins. He gently lifted the blonde wig from a Styrofoam form and fitted it to his head. He fussed and fretted with the wig for a moment, then reached for a jar of spirit gum. After slathering a layer on his upper lip with the applicator under the jar’s lid, he pasted a blonde Fu Manchu mustache into place. Finally, he spirit gummed his chin and added the goatee.
He felt a tingling in the pit of his stomach. Nerves or excitement? It didn’t matter. The adrenaline would kick in any minute.
He stopped and took a breath, then looked around his bathroom. He had worked hard to afford this expensive condo overlooking Seattle’s Pike Place Market. He arranged his bathroom like the rest of his life, everything in its place. Thick white towels hung from brass racks, the few medications and cosmetics neatly stored away in drawers and cabinets alongside protein powder and vitamin supplements.
He washed the spirit gum off of his hands and gazed into the brass-rimmed mirror that matched the art deco theme of the building. He removed his bathrobe and liked what he saw. His muscles bulged, his six-pack abs gave him a little thrill. He had worked as hard for this body as he had for his profession.
Stepping back, Justin admired his handiwork. Not perfect, not good enough yet. Although he hoped that no one knew what he looked like, he had been on enough TV shows and magazines that he couldn’t take the chance.
He leaned close into the mirror and inserted blue contact lenses to cover his brown eyes. That should do it.
This job could be a life changer. He already had all the money he needed, but if he pulled this off, he'd be famous. No, not if he pulled it off, when he pulled it off.
Justin stepped into his bedroom where blue coveralls laid neatly on his king-sized bed. A pair of shinny black work shoes rested on the floor.
Justin reached for the coveralls. Damn that Bear. The coveralls were a size “L.” Could he squeeze into them? The legs weren’t a problem. A little tight, but not too short. The top was another story. The fabric strained against the buttons. His chest and shoulders were just too massive for this outfit. He would be lucky if he didn’t pop the buttons loose when he breathed. I’ll kill the little bastard for this. After seven years he knows damn good and well I’m an XL.
He sat on the bed, carefully bent over and pulled on the shoes.
If this is the worst thing that happens today, I’ll be lucky.
Butterflies fluttered in his stomach while he waited for the elevator. At the front steps of his building, a white van with a Rainer Office Supply sign painted on the side pulled up to the curb, exactly on time. A short stocky man with a reddish-blonde beard and unruly hair got out of the driver’s seat.
“Coffee?” The man handed Justin a Starbucks cup.
“Get in, Bear.” Justin took the cup and slipped behind the wheel.
Justin glanced back over his shoulder. “Good morning, Irena,” he said. A tattoo-covered blonde woman with a crew cut, wearing a baggy blue jump suit sat in the back seat.
Their eyes met and without answering him she covered her head with a New York Yankees baseball cap. They drove the few blocks to the Millennium Towers in nervous silence.
Are we out of our minds? One of the largest computer companies in the world, Millennium Systems security was world class. And that, my friend, is the challenge.
Justin steered the van into the underground garage and parked in a reserved stall, his hands sweaty on the wheel. He climbed out of the van, took a deep breath and wiped his palms on the seat of his pants. His heart pounded wildly. Using the old actor’s trick, he tensed every muscle in his body, then slowly released the tension, bit by bit. First his toes, then his feet, then his calves, then thighs and up his body. He breathed deeply several more times, letting his diaphragm do the work.
This was it: Showtime.
****
“Hey, hero.” The husky, gray-bearded bus driver turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Your stop’s coming up.”
“Thanks, Garry.” Ted Higuera folded his newspaper and stood up.
“Good luck, hero.” The bus driver held his hand out, palm up.
I wish he’d stop calling me that. Ted slapped his hand. “Gracias.”
Stepping down from the green and yellow Metro bus, Ted entered into Pioneer Square. He turned his jacket collar up against the light mist. In East LA, where he grew up, they would call this rain. In Seattle, the natives hardly even noticed it.
The Square was full of families and late-season tourists milling about. Business people hu
stled back and forth. Tonight, after the yuppie crowd took over, Pioneer Square would become Party Central.
Caramba. Ted thought, not for the first time, that he’d rather be heading to one of the Square’s famous night spots. It was his first day at his first job out of college. He should be excited, but something held him back.
“Mom, look!” A small boy, maybe nine or ten years old pointed at Ted. “It’s him. The man from TV who saved that cruise ship.”
“Charlie,” his hatchet-faced mother admonished. “You know it’s not polite to point.”
“Hell, Shelly, Charlie’s right.” The father, a short, round, bald man in a leather jacket, reached his hand out to Ted. “I want to shake your hand.”
Ted hated all the attention he was getting. Too polite to refuse, he took the man’s hand.
The man pulled him close and clapped him on the back. “It’s about time somebody stood up to them damn terrorists.”
“Oh, my.” A heavy gray-haired woman saw Ted. She stood eye to eye with him and probably out-weighed him by forty pounds.
Her eyes immediately teared up. She threw her arms around him and pulled him into her ample bosom. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Ted wanted to break away, to run.
“My grand children were on that boat. You saved their lives.”
“I really didn’t do anything,” Ted said. Yeah, he fought back tears of his own, except get my friends shot up. He managed to extricate himself from the death hug.
A crowd gathered around him, a phenomenon that happened more and more these days. Well wishers patted him on the back and introduced their children. Smart phones were shoved in his face as pretty girls posed for a selfie with him. This was the full rock-star treatment.
The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1) Page 32