by Tara Quan
Zack let out a low whistle. “Shit. That’s mass murder any way you slice it. No wonder he’d kill to keep the exploit a secret.”
She blinked a few times to get rid of the excess liquid. “And the man might get away with it. Making a logical connection between doctored documents and trading records isn’t enough to trigger an investigation, let alone a conviction. He’s hiding behind a web of false identities, and his ties to the money he made off this exploit are circumstantial at best. He’s smart, and he knows how to cover his tracks. From what I can tell from his tax returns, he’s maintained the façade of an upper-middle-class bureaucrat and shows no overt signs he’s got half a billion dollars tucked away somewhere.”
With an expression that epitomized male arrogance, Zack thumbed his nose. “Don’t be ridiculous. If we put your accountant brains and my hacking skills together, I bet we can find out where the money is.”
For the next few hours, they worked together in near silence to unravel the money trail. After sifting through ownership records of countless international LLCs, they struck gold in the form of Al Boohma, a small shipping business based in Dubai. Unlike the other fronts, its balance sheet showed significant and steady outflows of cash. Once they matched the withdrawal dates to her target’s travel records, the corners of her lips curved up. Criminals often got caught because they lacked the self-control to put aside the fruits of their labor. If her suspicions proved correct, Mr. Simelach’s mistake would be a costly one.
“Shit. The Dubai police’s damn server is off-grid. Leave it to oil-rich Arabs to get top of the line cyber security.” Massaging the back of his neck, he shook his head. “I’ll need to fly to the UAE and plug into their system onsite.”
The thought of him leaving turned her stomach. She didn’t want to lose him again—not yet. On a less selfish note, she had a much better solution. “Give me a day. I know someone in the region who might be able to do that for you and finish up our research.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t think you understand the extent of my awesome hacking abilities.”
Male egos could be so fragile. It gave her great pleasure to shatter them when the situation warranted. “Dan’s an older and more sophisticated version of you, so his awesomeness trumps yours. Get some sleep. I’ll give you a call when he pings me back.”
Zack’s jaw dropped. “You can’t just e-mail this shit to some random dude. Do you want commandos to rappel in and rendition his ass?”
She puffed out a breath. Why did men persist in underestimating her? Was it her height? “You taught me a few tricks in college. I know what I’m doing, and if you don’t trust me, you can keep ghosting my computer and shut me down before I hit send. I’m going to click the red button and shut off this video feed now. Go take a nap, and don’t you dare peep in while I’m sleeping.”
***
Collating the necessary data and penning a message to Dan Khan took a little while, and a wave of fatigue slammed into Maya the moment she completed her task. Spending this much one-on-one time with Zack, electronic or otherwise, had given her a high. A sleep-deprived crash loomed in the near future. Wiping the crusts from the inner corners of her eyes, she was about to put her laptop into sleep mode when another video-messaging window popped open, displaying one corner of her mother’s face.
Whoever invented webcams needed to be shot.
One of the major downsides of having smart parents was their quick if somewhat awkward adoption of modern technology and all forms of social media. Since Ammi must have seen her online status, she didn’t have a choice but to accept the connection.
“Hello…hello…. It’s not working. The screen is blank. Wait, let me telephone your brother—”
Maya sighed. Though Siddh now ran a successful tech startup in Boston, he somehow managed to continue his role as her parents’ primary troubleshooter. How he found the patience was one of nature’s greatest mysteries. “Give it a moment, Ammi. See me now?”
Her mother smiled, or at least the corner of her mouth visible on screen lifted really high. “Haan. Now everything functions. I’m so pleased to see you up this early. It is much better for your skin. We should chat like this more often.”
And she needed to set her Skype status permanently on Away. Since correcting her mother’s misunderstanding would yield no benefit, she ran with it. “Yes. Early riser, that’s me. Can you tilt the camera a bit—uh huh, like that. Now I can see you. How are you and Baba doing?”
Ammi waved her hand dismissively in the air. “As usual, your father works too much. You need to call him and tell him to retire.”
Her mother had been making this request for as long as Maya could remember. She and her siblings had long since concluded their dad’s actual retirement would drive Ammi insane. She loved having the house to herself. “Ji haan. I’ll get right on that. Where’s he now?”
“You should know. It is the time for his morning walk.” Despite having lived away from her parents for more than seven years, both of them seemed under the impression Maya should still have their daily routine memorized. And despite her father being a cardiovascular surgeon, he continued to insist walking was a more than adequate form of exercise.
“I see. By the way, I need to go in just a bit. My…umm…yoga class is about to start.” Since her parents lived a thirty-minute drive away and insisted she visit more than once a month, Maya didn’t feel too guilty about cutting the conversation short.
Her mother didn’t sound fooled. “I have something important to tell you. My friend, Samina, you remember her? She gave you that Capsela set you loved?”
Maya searched through her memories and vaguely recalled assembling clear plastic balls with gears in them into simple robots back when she was eight. “Sure. Auntie Samina. Her husband is an…engineer?” Considering the doctor, lawyer, or engineer rule when it came to professions, she figured the guess had a thirty-three percent chance of success. As a forensic accountant, Maya numbered among the black sheep of her extended family.
Judging from her mother’s wide grin, the gamble had paid off. “Yes, that’s the one. Her son, also an engineer, is coming for his PhD at the University of Indiana.”
No conversation starting with “her son” ever ended well. “Good for him.”
“And he’s available. There’s this white British girl, but Samina doesn’t like her.”
Maya suppressed a cringe. Ammi’s level of political correctness oscillated depending on her immediate social circle. Ever since she’d retired from her job as a hospital administrator, her openness to other cultures seemed to be retrograding. “Oh yeah? Why not?”
“The woman is crazy. She is twenty-seven and still is not ready to get married or have children. Can you believe it?”
Considering Maya was two years shy of that ripe old age, it wasn’t a huge stretch of the imagination. “I’m sure they’ll figure out their differences. So I’ve got to—”
“You should meet him.”
Sometimes, the best course of action was to feign ignorance. “Who?”
“Manish. Auntie Samina’s son. What is the harm? You two have a great deal in common.”
It was on the tip of Maya’s tongue to suggest meddling mothers with too much imagination and time on their hands as a conversational starting point. “I thought you said he’s going to Indiana. You wouldn’t want me to move to another state. How would we do our Tuesday dinners?”
“Samina and I talked it all over.” Maya resisted the urge to massage her temples. “He can search for employment here after he obtains his degree. If you two get married, he will receive a green card.”
Since Maya was pretty sure Manish didn’t know she existed, it took a great deal of self-control to keep a straight face. Needing sleep, she decided to shift tactics. “What about Daniyal? I thought you liked him.”
Her mother made a disgusted sound. “If you two were on that path, you would have married three years ago when you met. Your father says he’s…” she
squinted, as if trying to remember the exact words, “a red herring.”
For once, the woman’s instincts were dead on. “Maybe we’re waiting for the right—”
Ammi lifted her index finger in front of the camera and wagged it. “You are twenty-five years old. You should already have provided me with two grandchildren. You must stop wasting your time. Your baba could die any day.”
Maya happened to know her father was in tip-top shape and took great care of his heart health. The practice approached paranoia. “Your two sons are thirty-two and twenty-eight. Why don’t you nag them for babies?”
Her mother frowned and shook her head. “You know they are too young to be married. You, I am worried about. In a few months, you will be too old for a good match.”
Maya had never understood how these arbitrary numbers perpetuated themselves, but she was too sleepy for a prolonged sociological analysis. Sending the webcam a saccharine-sweet smile, she waved. “Okay, let’s discuss Auntie Samina’s son later. I’ve got to run.” Yawning, she lied, “I’m already late for yoga. Talk to you later.”
Shutting the lid of her Macbook, she got up and stretched before heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Looking forward to spending the rest of Saturday morning in bed, she pulled up the covers. As her face met the blessed, hypoallergenic memory-foam pillow, the phone rang.
The ring tone mimicked the sound of a police siren.
***
“This better be important,” Maya grumbled as she fished the iPhone Zack had gifted her out of her purse, which she had left in the closet, all the way by the kitchen. She could never seem to remember simple daily tasks such as charging her phone, putting it in memorable and easily accessible places, or installing software updates. It was a miracle she had bothered to look for the darn thing at all. After spending the night and the better half of the morning slaving away at his behest, she didn’t have the patience for more demands. At least not until she’d gotten some sleep. “What do you want?”
“You need to get out of there.”
Zack’s panicked voice rooted her to the spot.
“And not through the front door. They’re already on their way up. Why did you take so damn long to answer?”
This wasn’t the right time to be scolding her, but they’d talk about it later. “Who’s on their way up?”
“Men with guns who won’t bother flashing badges. Put on shoes you can run in and come out to the balcony. Now, Maya.”
Too confused to think straight, she followed his direction and strapped on a pair of hiking sandals. Barely remembering to take her purse, she bolted across the living room with the phone still pressed to her ear. “What am I supposed to do there?”
“Leave your stuff. Jump to the apartment next to you and keep going until you find an unlocked door. Get out through there and take the fire-exit stairs down to the loading dock. I’ll be waiting.”
She turned the doorknob. “Who do you think I am? The Princess of Persia? I’m not the jumping over rooftops type of girl.”
“Don’t be a wimp. The balcony railings are all separated by less than two feet. It’s not a jump, it’s more like a step. Didn’t you do track and field back in high school? Now, close that door behind you and get a move on.”
Deciding now wasn’t the time to tell him her only C grade had been in physical education, she dumped the phone into her purse and hefted the straps over her shoulders. Luckily, the leather satchel was lightweight and backpack style. Pushing a patio chair to the far end, she climbed on and scrambled over the metal railing to the adjacent apartment. “How do I know he’s not being insane and paranoid?” she muttered. The sleepier she got, the more she tended to talk to herself.
She glanced back through her own window in time to see a black shadow crash through the entry way, the assault sending wood splinters flying all over the beige carpet. Instinct kicked in, and she fell into a crouch. The police would have rung the doorbell. They would have knocked. None of them would be wearing black ski masks.
Knowing she needed to put more distance between her and the people breaking into her apartment, she crawled to the next railing and vaulted over it. She repeated the process until she reached the corner unit. With a silent prayer, she tried the knob. It turned without effort. Thank goodness for trusting neighbors.
Dashing inside and shutting the door behind her, she spun on her heels to find a man she had bumped into a few times in the elevator standing behind his kitchen counter. On the tile floor, a bottle of milk lay on its side, the contents spreading toward the carpet.
She swallowed. “Umm…. Hi.”
He blinked. “Hi.”
She cleared her suddenly blocked throat. “Your…err…door’s not locked.”
His gaze skittered to the balcony and back. “Yeah?”
Remembering the men who’d broken into her place, Maya stepped forward.
Her neighbor yelped. “Lady, wait! I’m not wearing any underwear.”
Talk about awkward. She glanced at the poor man and then the door. “I won’t look. Promise. I’m so sorry for the intrusion.”
Not giving him time to protest, she sprinted across the living room, jumped over the milk puddle on the kitchen floor, and pulled open the unlocked front door. Poking her head out, she assessed her chances. To the right, at the end of the hall, a gang of men in black clothing hovered at her doorstep. The side-exit stairway was less than ten feet in the opposite direction.
Suppressing the urge to run, she straightened her shoulders and strolled away from the mystery men, thankful she didn’t hear any pursuing footsteps. Nudging the exit door shut with great care, she bounded down three flights of stairs before practically crashing through the loading dock door. All she found in there was a trash collection truck.
Just as she was about to imagine all the ways she could make Zack’s life hell, her purse vibrated. She dug through it and answered the phone with the first question that came to mind. “How do you keep changing my ringtone?”
“Come outside. I’m across the street in a Mini Cooper.”
Immediately spotting the car, she slid into the passenger seat. Before she had time to put on her seatbelt, he peeled out. “What the—”
He closed his hand over the back of her neck and pushed her head into her lap. A second later, she heard a loud crack followed by the sound of breaking glass.
He let go of her to grip the steering wheel. “Hold on.”
What did he think she planned to do? Yanking down the seatbelt, she managed to buckle herself in before the car’s leftward momentum launched her against the door. She caught the scent of burnt rubber as the Mini somehow pivoted on its front tires to execute a one hundred eighty degree rotation. As they careened downhill, she watched traffic lights turn green in rapid succession, each time only seconds before their approach. The sound of screeching tires and honking horns prompted her to twist her neck around to look through the broken back window. The array of red lights behind them and a simple process of deduction led to a single conclusion. “Aren’t traffic-light controlling devices illegal?”
The man she’d once thought she knew spared her a glance. “They can add it to my list of charges.”
With their pursuers encumbered by traffic, they continued down the street at a less-breakneck speed. Before her heart rate returned to normal, they pulled up on the side of the road. She watched dumbfounded as Zack got out, walked around the hood, and pulled open her door.
“Come on. We need to go.” With surprising gentleness, he leaned in and unbuckled her seatbelt.
“But….”
He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “They’ve got the make and model of my car. We can’t use it anymore. Come on.”
She stepped onto the sidewalk, her entire body shaking despite the sticky heat. Gray clouds gathered above, blocking the summer sun. But the warm, moist air would make most people sweat.
Yet goose bumps formed on her clammy skin, and her teeth clattered as she struggled
to still her jaw. Zack pulled her seat forward and reached into the back of the tiny car, coming out with a white hoodie better suited to his frame than hers. She mutely handed him her purse, unable to summon the energy to protest when he dropped the Kate Spade satchel onto dusty concrete. He held the sweatshirt up so she could slide her arms into the lightweight fleece. Once done, he zipped it shut and rolled up the sleeves.
He cupped her cheeks, his hands warm and steady. “It’s all going to be okay. I need you to follow my lead for a little while longer.”
She didn’t possess the brain capacity to do much else. While she grabbed her purse and positioned it onto her back, he took his glasses off and tossed them carelessly over to the driver’s seat. He poked his head into the car and came back out with a messenger bag, which he slung diagonally across his torso. Slamming the door shut, he grabbed her hand and pulled her in the general direction of the Metro station.
Nudging her onto the escalator in front of him, he rummaged through her satchel as they descended underground. “Good call on the bag. I know the perfect way to get them looking in the wrong direction.”
Her purse significantly lighter, she watched him toss what looked like a total of three cell phones into the trash at the bottom of the escalators. As he went off to buy a paper ticket, she used her frequent-rider Metro card to get past the turnstiles. They descended another set of stairs before hopping into a Blue Line train that had pulled into the station.
Once she was seated inside a near-empty car, he whisked away the Metro card she’d used to get in, placed it on a seat at a far-off corner, before returning to her side.
She frowned. “Do you really think someone will take it?”
“Never underestimate greed. Those cards are loaded with your pre-tax money. Someone’s bound to at least try to use it. With any luck, it’ll be a tourist, and the Bluewater idiots will be hunting them down at all the monuments.”
Brushing his forearm, she murmured, “You’re bleeding.”
“Just scratches from the broken glass.” He nudged the rust-colored welts with his index finger. “They’ve already scabbed over, see?”