Dire Means

by Geoffrey Neil

  “I know what we have to do,” Morana said. For the next forty-five minutes Morana and Mark whispered, developing a detailed strategy and reviewed it three times—knowing that its failure would bring their certain execution.

  “Is there any way for us to talk about this again?” Mark asked.

  “Aldred has approved one other movie. We can follow up at that one tomorrow or the next day. Until then we don’t so much as glance at each other in communication about this. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Morana checked her watch against the light of the theater screen. “We have to return to our shirts,” she said, nudging Mark with her elbow.

  They entered their original theater and tip-toed to their seats. Morana held up a finger telling Mark to wait. She grabbed the back of her Trail Bladers shirt’s collar and squeezed it before she slid one arm into it and then popped her head through. She switched hands and pushed her other arm into the shirt and stood up, tucking the shirt into her black pants. She pointed to Mark and nodded.

  Mark grabbed his shirt in the same manner and followed Morana’s sequence for putting it on—careful not to dislodge his pretend mustache. Morana’s timing had been great. Within three minutes, the credits for The Mullesville Torts began to roll and the few people in the movie theater stood to exit.

  They walked outside and less than a hundred feet to board a Trail Bladers truck idling at the curb.

  “ALCO,” Morana said as the driver closed them into the back of the truck.

  Morana called Aldred. “Yes, we finished the film. I’d like to show Mark the honey pot on the south side, is that okay? Great, I’ll drop off the driver and we’ll be an extra hour… Oh, I’ll tell you about it when we get there… You are leaving now… Good, thanks.”

  She hung up and said, “We’re going to observe some actors. I know you’ve seen the video, but watching in person will put our work in a whole new perspective.”

  “Bring it on,” Mark said. He sat forward in his seat and rubbed his hands together. Enthusiasm was easier to feign now that he had a plan and a partner.

  The truck rolled into the freight lot at the rear of the ALCO building where a second Trail Bladers truck waited. As it backed up, beeping toward the loading dock, Morana placed her hand on the inside console. The truck’s doors unlocked and then swung open when the rear bumper bumped the dock’s rubber stops. The loading dock was deserted.

  Morana dispatched the driver to a container pickup in West LA, instructing him to use the adjacent truck. He obeyed.

  Mark and Morana rode the freight elevator to the fifth floor and entered the office outside the obtainment vestibule. Morana opened a locked wall cabinet and produced a set of keys. She flipped through them until she had isolated the key for suite 210. She pulled the key off the ring and gave it to him without saying a word.

  It was 4:40 p.m. and the ALCO building management office wouldn’t be closed for another twenty minutes. Morana sat at a table outside the obtainment vestibule and logged onto a laptop. She turned the laptop to Mark. He opened a browser, logged onto Cody’s surveillance camera web site and disabled the cameras. He then gently took off his wired shirt, replacing it with a t-shirt Morana had brought from the truck. As he did so, they discussed the obtainment he had seen the day before and Morana reviewed aloud the overall Trail Bladers mission. This conversation, they hoped, would maintain a banter that would avoid Aldred’s suspicion.

  A few minutes after five o’clock, Morana closed the lid of the laptop and stood. “Are we ready to go?”

  “Yes,” Mark replied.

  He felt the key in his pocket and pinched it between two fingers as though it might try to escape if he let go. He asked Morana to verify that his disguise was still intact. Even though it was after closing time, people occasionally worked late and Mark didn’t want to be recognized by Cody, his receptionist, or anyone from the management office who might have lingered in the hall.

  Morana motioned to the door and Mark exited. He rode the freight elevator down and entered the second floor foyer. A cleaning cart was parked outside an open janitor’s closet. He heard running water coming from the closet and footsteps inside. He walked by unnoticed, slid his key into the door of suite 210, opened it a crack. The office was dark and quiet. ALCO management was prompt, especially when it came to closing time. There was no reason for Cody to stay late when Mark had equipped him to perform his surveillance from home.

  Inside the office, Mark saw his motion sensing cameras. After his computer handiwork upstairs, Cody would not be reviewing this tape any time soon and neither would Bracks. There would appear to be a camera problem during the next few minutes. After Mark finished here, the cameras would begin to function again—an inexplicable glitch that had corrected itself.

  The office was dark except for the main hallway. Mark made his way past Gina’s desk to a wall of shelves behind it. He saw the book containing the TellTale on the shelf. He took it and pushed the books together to fill the gap.

  As he turned to leave, he heard footsteps and someone whistling. He crouched beside the desk to determine where it was coming from.

  A plastic garbage bag snapped followed by keys jingling. He rushed to the assistant manager’s office two doors in and locked himself inside, hoping the janitor didn’t have an inner office key. He crawled under the desk after placing the full trashcan outside. He clutched the TellTale under his arm and waited.

  He heard the janitor cleaning the front office while whistling. Soon, the door handle jiggled, went silent and then jiggled harder. Mark held his breath and heard, “Oh well,” as the janitor’s whistling continued back toward Cody’s office.

  Mark waited for the janitor to exit the suite before leaving this hiding spot to follow. He skipped the elevator and rushed back up three flights of stairs to the Trail Bladers suite were Morana unlocked the door to let him in. He put the book containing the TellTale on the table and quickly slipped back into his wired shirt with Morana’s help.

  While Mark was gone, Morana had gathered some supplies. She handed him three red Trail Blader pens like those that sat in the cup holder on Pop’s desk, and three poly-lithium batteries in a clear plastic bag. She gave him an inquisitive look, and he nodded slightly to confirm that the book sitting before them was, indeed, the TellTale. She pointed to the laptop. Mark pulled it to him and reactivated Cody’s video surveillance system with unsteady fingers.

  On the elevator ride, Morana told Mark more about the actors they would see and the next target fodder who were under surveillance.

  Out on the dock, they boarded the truck and Morana plopped her bag on the seat between them.

  “I didn’t know you drove the trucks,” Mark said.

  “I used to all the time. Now I more often deal with our cargo.” She thumbed toward the back of the truck.

  When they drove out of the ALCO building’s lot, she checked the corners of the truck’s cab while steering with one hand. She flipped down the sun visors and opened the glove box. She pulled a small flashlight from her backpack and checked under the dashboard and ran her hand along her headrest and Mark’s. A car behind them honked because Morana had slowed the truck and weaved out of her lane during the search. Satisfied, she tapped Mark, put her finger over her lips, and then pointed to her bag on the floor between them. This time Mark knew what she wanted. As they made their way south on Lincoln Boulevard, Mark pulled his t-shirt from the bag and, again, gently removed the shirt and suit jacket.

  “You know, this particular honey pot yields no less than fifty candidates a day,” Morana said, keeping conversation alive.

  “Is it difficult to make a choice with so many candidates?” Mark asked, smoothing out the front of his t-shirt.

  “Not really. The most egregious cases are obvious.” Morana pointed to the window control on Mark’s door. He placed his finger on it. “You’ll see what I mean in a few minutes,” she said.

  As the truck pulled up to the corner of Lincoln Boulev
ard and Pearl St., Mark’s window slid down and Morana held up ten fingers, indicating the number of minutes Mark had to accomplish the TellTale delivery. She then made a cutting sign across her neck. Mark nodded and slipped his torso out the window, bucking a few times until he fell out and onto the ground. Although his landing was rough, no sound of a closing door would be transmitted to any interested ear listening from the Nest.

  The traffic light turned green and Morana pulled away, holding up crossed fingers for Mark to see as he brushed himself off. The drivers that followed the truck stared at Mark as they passed and he touched his nose and skullcap to make sure his disguise hadn’t been dislodged.

  He pressed the pedestrian crossing button repeatedly—willing it to hurry. At a break in traffic, he ran for it, not waiting for the crossing signal. On the other side he slowed to a jog to pace himself for the three block journey to Jim Kourokina’s house. He wasn’t worried about Jim being home. Jim was always home.

  At the front door Mark rang the bell and pounded three times, sending Jim’s dogs, Walkie and Talkie, into a barking fit inside. He leaned on his knees to catch his breath from his jog. He waited ten seconds and pounded again. The dogs had reached the door, yapping and jumping against it. He heard footsteps and Jim’s voice saying, “Alright, alright.”

  Jim cracked the door two inches, “What?” Walkie and Talkie stopped their barking and whined with excitement to get to Mark. Jim looked down at them and said, “That’s odd.”

  “Let me in, it’s Mark.”

  “Mark who?”

  “Mark Denny. I need your help, now open up—I only have a few minutes to talk.” Mark pushed the door open and Jim stepped back. Walkie and Talkie jumped up on Mark and he squatted to pet them. The trust and innocent joy of the dogs was refreshing and it momentarily calmed Mark. The dogs licked his neck and jumped against him on their hind legs.

  “Whoa!” Jim said. He took Mark’s arm and tried to turn him for a better look. “Talk about extreme makeover! Dude, you are all over the news. I hope you aren’t looking to hide here—you’ll get us both arrested. I thought you might have fled the country.”

  “Thanks for your support, friend.” The dogs began to bark again when Mark stood and diverted his attention from them and Jim shushed them. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the back of the house and the dogs scurried out of sight.

  “I was abducted like the others, but they aren’t going to kill me—at least they said they wouldn’t for the time being,” Mark said.

  “Who’s doing it? Tell me—I want that reward. How did you escape?”

  “Hold on—I haven’t escaped. It’s a long story. Listen, I don’t have time to tell you everything right now. I need your help.”

  “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” Jim said, leaning to look toward his front door as if someone might bust through at any moment. “If the police are following you then you need to get out of here now because I don’t want to be involved.”

  “The police have no idea I’m here. I’ll tell you more if you’ll shut up for a minute.”

  Jim’s reaction surprised Mark. He would have expected Jim to be fascinated with the details and process of his abduction and transformation. Instead, Jim was more terrified of criminal contagion.

  “So who took you? Are you helping them now?”

  “No, I’m buying time. I’m not a murderer,” Mark said.

  Jim shook his head with a forced smile as if to say, “Of course not.” “Where have you been? How did you get wrapped up in this?”

  “The people responsible for the killings got to me and are forcing me to join them.”

  “People? So there is more than one?”

  “Yes, and they are not prone to mistakes.”

  “Are they starving you? You look fine.”

  “No, and they don’t want to kill me—yet.”

  “I’ve always been good to the homeless,” Jim said as he took a step back from Mark.

  “Would you shut up for a minute and let me tell you what I need? We don’t have much time. I’ve brought you something that will blow your mind.”

  “You already pretty much did that. Listen, you’ve been a good friend and I’m not looking to turn you in, but I don’t want any part of what you’re into.” Jim motioned toward the door for Mark to leave.

  “I want you to re-engineer TellTale.”

  Jim froze and stifled a grin. A year earlier, after a brief demonstration of the device Carlos had developed, Jim had longed to get his hands on one. He hadn’t been privy to any details of the TellTale before Carlos died. Carlos didn’t trust him and wanted to patent the technology before releasing the device for anyone’s examination—especially Jim Kourokina.

  Jim went to the window and parted the curtains an inch to peek outside. “Are they watching us?”

  “No, I’ve arranged a few moments of privacy to talk to you—very few moments,” Mark said. He pulled the book containing the TellTale from his pocket and handed it over.

  Jim opened the book cover and popped out the inner box of circuitry, examining it. “Nice,” he said. “I knew it had to be Flash technology. Very clever. But it’s dated.”

  “I’m glad you noticed; so then it won’t be a problem to fit the newer Flash technology into this pen?” Mark tossed Jim one of Pop’s red ballpoint pens.

  “What? You gotta be crazy,” Jim said as he examined the pen. “Why do you need it in the pen? People are dying. Why don’t you just turn these people in?”

  “The leader will immediately kill many of the captives if I do. I don’t have time to explain all this to you.”

  “Well, what are you trying to do?”

  “I want to tap the mastermind’s computer to monitor him. He controls his entire operation on it.”

  “I thought they brought you here.”

  “I found a traitor. She wants out. She’s helping me.”

  “Wow, you are in deep, aren’t you? I still don’t know why you need it in a pen.”

  “Because the killer doesn’t have any books in his office—only pens and some paper. A pen is the only option.”

  “Even not having had a close look at it, I’d say it is impossible to fit your TellTale circuitry into a pen without a complete rebuild.”

  “That’s why I came to you.”

  Jim took a closer look at the TellTale components and sucked his teeth. He shook his head slowly and looked daunted. “NAND Flash technology will eliminate this clunky data bus circuitry. The biggest challenge will be power.”

  “Try this on and see how it fits.” Mark pulled out two strings of the batteries Morana had given him from the ALCO building office.

  “Are these lithium polymer power cells?”

  Mark nodded.

  “I’ve read about these, but haven’t seen them yet. What is its voltage output capacity?”

  Mark shrugged. “I can’t help you there. But I have a feeling you’ll know in about a half-hour. That’s why I brought you three of them.”

  Jim laughed nervously and said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. And there’s one other thing.”

  “What? It has to make coffee?”

  “No, I have to be able to distinguish it from a penholder full of identical pens.”

  “That’s easy.”

  “How?”

  “Magnets.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “I know.”

  Jim turned and walked back toward his office and motioned for Mark to follow. The dogs reappeared and began barking and jumping on Mark again. Jim opened his back door and whistled. Walkie and Talkie darted out into the back yard.

  “Give me some tinker-time on it. When do you need it?”

  “Tomorrow, this same time.”

  “Hell no. Impossible,” Jim said. He handed the TellTale and pen back to Mark. “That’s too steep of an order. I’m not getting wrapped up in this—no way, no how.”

  Mark shoved it back into his hands. “You’ve
got to help, man. Please try. This isn’t just for me, it’s for the future victims and their families. I have about three more minutes to get your agreement and then I have to run—literally.”

  Jim’s phone beeped. As he pulled it from his pocket he said, “If I don’t cooperate, what? Are they going to kill me too?” Pressed a button on a phone and read the screen. His face lost its color.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Mark said, approaching him.

  Jim grabbed the front of Mark’s shirt with both hands, shoved him against the wall, and yelled, “You blackmail me, you bastard? You ask for my help and then threaten me?”

  “What are you talking about?” Mark said.

  Jim gave Mark his phone and then crossed the room to his cluttered work bench, sat and buried his face in his hands.

  Mark read the email message on Jim’s phone. It read, “Dear Mr. Kourokina, We encourage you to be of service to Mark Denny and the following souls…” Below that was a list of twenty names, addresses, social security numbers, and occupations of what appeared to be Jim Kourokina’s family members. Below them, larger lettering read, “Sensitive Data. Sent in the spirit of concern for the well-being of others.”

  “Morana,” Mark mouthed. “I didn’t send this,” he told Jim.

  Jim didn’t answer. He stared at the TellTale in his hand. “You should leave so I can get to work,” he said.

  “I’m sorry to have brought you into this, Jim. You are the only person I know who could pull this off and I have complete faith in you.”

  “Forgive me if your flattery doesn’t give me a warm feeling about you right now. I’m a little distracted. I need some time to think.” Jim pointed to the door.

  As they walked through the electronics clutter that lined the path to the door, Mark said, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve gotten you involved in my predicament and I understand why you’re pissed off. I came here honestly thinking you’d have a choice. But now you’re in it. And if you refuse to help, you will disappear and not one of your high-tech gadgets will warn you, nor will any of them be able to track you. That is a fact. These people are technologically sophisticated and, so far, flawless.”