Stealing the Moon & Stars

by Sally J. Smith

  The crosstown traffic was slow, and Jordan was impatient, feeling the burden of mounting intricacies and approaching deadlines. Then there was the burning question: what was Milo Wachowski doing with this odd software program?

  Tech companies seemed to spend a lot on their facilities. Gatekeepers Software Design stayed true to the model.

  The company was located in a big masonry building with sweeping copper arches and slanting copper canopies. In the bright midday sun, the rich-looking metal shone like a beacon.

  The automatic sliding glass door whooshed open, granting her access to the main lobby. It whooshed again as it closed behind her.

  Beam me up, Scotty. I’ve yet to discover intelligent life on this planet.

  The highly polished concrete floors reflected like glass. The click of her heels echoed across to the Information Desk, where a man who appeared to be a security guard lifted his head. She smiled and counted four surveillance cameras in the space. Four she could spot, anyway.

  “Hello.” She smiled and nodded to the security guard.

  “Can I help you?”

  If she went by the crumbs on his shirt and chocolate icing at the corners of his mouth, this was an ex-cop with a passion for chocolate doughnuts.

  “Yes. I’d like to talk to someone in the billing department about an invoice.” She used her helpless ingénue voice.

  “The name, please?”

  “Jordan Welsh.” She gave him what Eddie called her fetching smile.

  He smiled in return. “I meant the name on the invoice, your company’s name.”

  Oh, silly little ol’ me. She twittered. “I’m so sorry. It might be under Lenncore Systems.” Well, she didn’t say it was her company—he did. “L-e-n-n-c-o-r-e.”

  The security guard consulted a list on his desk. “Just a minute, please.”

  He spoke on the phone, asking for the name of someone she could talk to. He hung up. “Carl Zimmer will be out to help you in a few minutes, miss. You can wait over there.”

  “Thank you.” She crossed to a waiting area, where a leather settee was positioned in front of a copper wall with water cascading over it into a basin lined with river rock.

  The conditioned air was cool. The seat was comfortable. A Kenny G tune played in the background. If she sat there too long, she’d nod off to sleep or—she became more and more aware of the liquid sound of the cascading water—be paying a visit to the ladies’ room.

  Neither the nap nor the pit stop became an issue. Within five minutes the elevator door opened and a short man with a big handlebar mustache stepped out. He consulted with the guard then looked at Jordan.

  As he approached, he extended his hand. “I’m Carl Zimmer. How can I help you?”

  “Mr. Zimmer, thank you for taking the time to talk to me. I’m Jordan Welsh. I have a question about an invoice.”

  “Why don’t we go to my office?” Carl escorted Jordan to the elevator. Once inside, he pressed the button for the third floor.

  She looked down at the top of his head. At most, he stood five-four in his shoes. She slouched a little.

  Unpleasant memories of her tragic junior prom came creeping in. It was an event she did not care to recall.

  It was the first time she wore high heels, but there were several other reasons she’d never forget prom night. First, it was the millennium year 2000, and the whole world glittered with the rosy promise of a new age dawning. Silly, giddy fools. I mean, come on. Look how things are turning out? Meet the new age, same as the old age, maybe worse.

  It was also one of the many times during her high school years she tested the turbulent waters of rebellion and went directly against Mary’s wishes. It was all about the dress.

  Mary’s choice was a flowing royal blue Grecian full-length gown. Jordan’s choice, multiple layers of colorful netted petticoat over a short strapless bodice. It looked like a suitcase full of confetti exploded all over it. It was sexy and flirty and young. Jordan begged Mary to buy it for her, but Mary ignored her plea and went with the blue gown. Not to be thwarted, Jordan bought her chosen frock on the sly and had her BFF, Winnie Marlow, bring it to the prom and meet her in the girls’ restroom, where Jordan changed clothes.

  The main reason for regret was the choice of Brandon Allen as her date.

  By age fourteen Jordan had reached her full height, five feet ten in her stocking feet. In the spring of 2000, just before her seventeenth birthday, she was too young to be okay with it. Nevertheless, she was used to dating shorter boys when asked, which wasn’t often at that stage of the game.

  The only boy brave enough to invite her to prom and risk the certain ridicule of his classmates for dating “the Amazon” was Brandon Allen, charming and all, even kind of cute, but unfortunately barely five-six. The evening of her junior prom was the first time she ever dared to wear high heels. Although she imagined herself quite grown-up and sexy in them, their added height put her at well over six feet. It would be a fiasco. Her parents took pictures with their fancy new digital camera. She and Brandon looked more like mother and child than peers.

  As Brandon led her out for the first dance and put his arms around her, his face was level with her breasts. Things went from bad to worse as the band swung into Boyz II Men’s “I’ll Make Love to You” and he rested his head on her bare décolletage—a definite disadvantage of the confetti dress. Things went completely to hell when they tried a fast dance to “All Star,” and he kept ducking and turning beneath her arms. Couples around them giggled and teased.

  “I don’t feel well,” she told him. “Could we just go?”

  But Brandon was having a good time and didn’t want to leave. Jordan spent the majority of her junior prom sitting in his car in the parking lot waiting for him to come out and drive her home. It didn’t do any good.

  By Monday morning she was so mortified she couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Needless to say, photos from her junior prom never made it into her memory book.

  It was shortly after prom that she developed what she called “the short guy slump”—shoulders and upper back rounded, neck tilted a little, head slightly ducked, knees bent, and hips tucked under.

  Mary absolutely hated it. She would poke her index finger between Jordan’s shoulder blades and say, “Straighten up, Jordan.”

  Jordan vowed it wouldn’t happen again. An important part of her post-prom dating arsenal was a measuring tape with a prominent red line at the five-foot-ten inch mark. It was her minimum allowance.

  The elevator arrived at the third floor. She and Carl Zimmer stepped out, and he led the way down the hall to his office.

  “Have a seat.” He directed her to a chair in front of his desk.

  She inspected it with a suspicious eye, even putting her hand in the middle of the seat and pressing down. It held firm. There would be no repeat performance of the humiliating fiasco in the leasing office. She sat down and sighed. A girl just can’t take anything for granted these days.

  Carl Zimmer watched her, a puzzled expression on his face. “Do you have a copy of the invoice in question?”

  She sized up the place and took a second to formulate her game plan.

  Zimmer’s desk was tidy and free of clutter. A photo of a plump woman and three children was displayed on the credenza, along with photos of the individual children at various ages. One of the children, a sweet-faced girl of about ten, wore a colorful bandana on her hairless head. That photo made Jordan decide to tell the truth about what she needed and why.

  “I don’t have an invoice.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand. You said—”

  “I do need to talk to you about an invoice, but it isn’t mine.” She began her story.

  He listened without interrupting or even uttering a single word as Jordan laid it all out for him. She omitted names and some of the more specific details, but he got the gist. She could tell by the way he kept glancing at the picture of the sick little girl.

  “Tell me what you need
from me. If there’s any way I can help you without putting my job at risk, I will. This is despicable.”

  “What type of software does Gatekeepers design?”

  “We design custom business scenarios, very specific to the client’s needs.”

  “I see.” She nodded knowingly, but actually didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. It was time to admit Eddie might have more competently handled this part of the investigation. “I need to know what type of program your people designed for a company by the name of Lenncore Systems.”

  He turned to his computer and made a few entries. From the look of dismay on his face, she knew what he was about to say before his actual words. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.” He seemed disappointed. “The billing was custom coded. I don’t know what they bought.”

  That’s that, I guess. She sighed and stood. “Well, thank you anyway.”

  “Wait a minute.” He got up from the desk and headed for his office door. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The minute he left, Jordan rounded the desk and bent over his computer. Zimmer might be a nice guy and trying to help, but maybe she’d see something he’d missed.

  He was right. It was all coded gobbledygook. The connection between Gatekeepers and Lenncore Systems was going to be more elusive than she thought. Damn.

  When footsteps sounded in the hall, she went back to her chair and sat, crossing her legs and folding her hands as if she’d been sitting and waiting calmly the entire time.

  Carl had a young woman in tow.

  “Jordan, er, Miss Welsh, this is Barbara McLane. She’s the software designer who worked with Lenncore Systems on the project you’re inquiring about.”

  “How do you do?” Barbara put out her hand.

  Jordan warmed to the other woman right away. She stood and the two shook hands. If Jordan considered herself tall at five-ten, Barbara McLane qualified as a giantess. She was a few inches taller than Jordan.

  “I’ll leave the two of you alone.” Carl turned in the doorway and left the room.

  They sat beside each other in the chairs in front of the desk. Barbara turned so she was facing Jordan.

  “Nice shoes.” Barbara cast an admiring glance at Jordan’s Christian Louboutin navy and white striped kitten heels. Mary bought them for her at Barney’s.

  “Oh.” Jordan flexed her ankle. “Shoes are kind of my thing. More pairs than I need. You know? I’m sort of the Arizona Imelda Marcos.”

  Barbara’s voice was wistful. “I can’t even wear heels that short. I’m way too tall as it is.”

  Jordan leaned forward conspiratorially. “Heck, I lust after those four-and-a-half inch stilettoes myself. But a girl has to be realistic, right? I’ve learned a trick or two, though. The higher the heel, the shorter the skirt. That way they’re looking at your legs, not your height. As the French say, trompe l’oeil.” She laughed.

  Barbara laughed too.

  Much prettier when she smiled, Barbara looked a little like Brooke Shields but with big brown eyes. “Carl tells me you’re a private eye.” She leaned over and lowered her voice. “Do you carry a gun?”

  “A gun? No. Not most of the time, anyway. It’s not necessary for interviews like this. You don’t have any plans to ambush me, do you?”

  “Still, it must be exciting.”

  “Sometimes.” Yeah, like when I’m stuck on a stakeout and have to pee. “Most of the time it’s legwork and asking a lot of questions. Like now.” Jordan turned the question back in Barbara’s court. “There seems to be a lot of security here.”

  “Espionage.” She waggled her eyebrows dramatically. “It’s our brand of excitement. Software design is a highly competitive business. There can be big money at stake. Companies have been known to plagiarize.”

  “I had no idea.” A lie, but just a little one. Jordan knew all about high-tech espionage. “Tell me, what was it you designed for Lenncore Systems?”

  “Carl said you would ask about that.” She chewed her lip. “It’s confidential information. Our clients pay serious money for our discretion.”

  “So you can’t tell me?”

  She glanced at the open door then back. “Carl and his wife have it pretty tough with their oldest daughter. We all try to support him here. We’re a pretty close-knit group.” She took a deep breath. “I designed encryption software. When the program’s coding is engaged, it essentially camouflages certain transactions while working in concert with other software, also bypasses certain types of security programs. This was its purpose, but I can’t tell you about the actual design.”

  A thrill of anticipation shivered through Jordan. “Can you tell me just one more thing?”

  Barbara pursed her lips. “One more thing like what?”

  “The name of the person you worked with at Lenncore.”

  Barbara’s breathing was audible. She began to wring her hands but seemed unaware of it. “I’m a huge fan of The Matrix series. The Wachowski brothers—so it stuck with me. Wachowski. The man’s name was Milo Wachowski.”

  Yes! Jordan fought the urge to laugh out loud. Milo Wachowski. It was looking more and more like there was a long, long wait in store for Milo’s impatient wife.

  “You know? The Matrix? Take the red pill and I’ll show you how deep the rabbit hole goes?”

  “Yes, I saw the movie. You want to talk Alice and the rabbit hole? Most of the time I feel like Wonderland is where I live and breathe and not always the nice parts.”

  “One more thing might help you out,” Barbara said.

  “Yes?”

  “While I dealt with Mr. Wachowski, the payment came from someplace else entirely. Cloverton Insurance.”

  Ca-ching! Pay dirt.

  Jordan liked Barbara, liked her a lot, and not just because her help had just split the case open like a ripe melon. Barbara was all right in Jordan’s book.

  “You rock, Barbara. You’ve been a great help.” Jordan stood. “I don’t have anything else to ask you.”

  Barbara stood also.

  “Thanks for everything.” Jordan lowered her voice. “I know you bent the rules.”

  “Bent them? It’s like I took a sledgehammer to them. I truly wish I could tell you more, if only for Carl’s sake. He didn’t go into detail about what you’re investigating, but he said it was a ‘noble endeavor.’ I believe him.” She offered her hand a second time. “Good luck.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Jordan was being followed. The idiot in the red Dodge Ram pickup changed lanes every time she did and didn’t even have the sense to stay back a car or two.

  She gave another look in the rearview mirror. “You up for some fun, dummy?” She exited the freeway several ramps before Shea so she and the Dodge could have a nice little game of cat and mouse on her way back to the office.

  It was like putting a dog through its paces over an obstacle course, except a well-trained dog could run circles around the guy in the Ram.

  She drove a couple of blocks, turned left for two more blocks then turned back right. She led him into and around the maze of cul-de-sacs and switchbacks by the Air Park, meandered north, south, east, and west through residential neighborhoods. She slowed down on Hayden so he could catch up and crawled around shopping center parking lots, taking all the speed bumps too fast, knowing that the Ram’s suspension would be scrambling what few brains he had. Jordan was having so much fun she drove two miles past the office and had to make a U-turn to get back.

  If the fool didn’t know he’d been had, there was something deficient with the dude.

  A call to Eddie at the office alerted him to the tail.

  “No problemo.” Eddie must have been in need of a little diversion. There was pure delight in his voice. “Just lead him on back here like a little lost lamb, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Jordan watched in the rearview mirror as the monster four-wheel drive turned into the office parking lot about four or five car lengths behind
her.

  She parked, waited in the car. The truck drove around to finally park by the adjacent office bungalow.

  After another minute or two, she got out and went inside, where Eddie was waiting for her.

  “Which one is he?” He pulled her to the window and separated the slats in the wood blinds for a clear view of the parking lot.

  She pointed through the slats. “That’s him. The big fire engine red mother over by Bungalow Two.”

  Eddie snickered. “You’re not serious.” He took another look through the blinds and the chuckling turned into outright laughter. “You don’t mean the eight foot tall leviathan with the cow catcher bumper on the front? The one trying to keep a low profile?”

  “Low profile. Right.” She laughed. “That would be him.”

  He grinned, and his white teeth flashed. Rubbing his hands together in utter glee, he said, “Let’s get this party started.”

  He took something from his shirt pocket then opened his palm to reveal a button-sized tracking device. With a wink, he headed for the back door. “You stay put.” He pointed his finger at her. “I mean it.”

  Jordan watched out the window, and after a minute or so, Eddie stuck his head around the corner between two of the bungalows on the far side of the complex.

  Keeping low, he made his way behind the Dodge Ram. The man in the truck was so focused on their front door, Eddie bent unseen to attach the tracking device to the underside of the truck. Jordan smiled.

  I just love watching you in action, hot stuff.

  Eddie straightened then and walked around to the driver’s side.

  Jordan didn’t have a clear view of the man in the truck—he was too far away—but from what little she could tell, his hair was dark and his skin swarthy. He wore a dark-colored ball cap and aviator sunglasses.

  The two men talked for a moment; then the Dodge Ram started up and pulled away. The driver stuck his hand out the window, his middle finger raised in contempt.

  When the truck turned right out of the parking lot, Eddie jumped into his Ford Ranger and followed.