“Jeez, no. I didn’t say that.”
“I know what a microchip is. I’ve got a computer, you know.”
“Right.” Okay, so he was not the brains of the operation, but somehow that didn’t make me feel any better.
He fell silent and put the gun back on his lap. “So you know how to fix computers?”
Better to keep him talking until I could figure out a plan to extricate myself from the situation. “Well, hardware is not my specialty, but I’m not half bad.”
“So, like if I have a computer question, could you answer it?”
“It depends.”
“Well, my computer shows a blue screen every time I start up.”
“You mean the blue screen of death?”
He looked at me in surprise. “It’s a blue screen of death?”
“Yeah. Technically it’s called a STOP error. Windows gets a blue screen when it suffers a serious error. Then it’s forced to stop completely. Your computer won’t boot up at all?”
“Exactly. I have to start it again and then I get the same blue screen. Vicious loop. Can’t do a damn thing.”
“Don’t worry. Every STOP error has a STOP code that can be used to extract you from the loop.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
He pulled off onto a dirt road lined by a grove of trees on either side.
My knees started to knock together. “Listen, maybe after our little chat you could take me to your computer and I’d fix it for you. For free.”
“Really? You’d do that? Free of charge.”
“For you, yes.”
“Hey, that’s nice. Did you know computer geeks charge more than doctors these days?” He patted his stomach. “Damn doctor says I have to cut back on the smoking, drinking and meat because I have high cholesterol. What kind of crap is that?”
“Total crap. I say eat, smoke and be carnivorous all you want.”
“Hey, I kind of like you.”
“Good to know.”
He pulled to a stop in front of a white house with a wraparound porch. I noted the house number—6557—although I didn’t see a street sign or name anywhere. We were completely in Nowheresville. There were no other houses in the vicinity and we were surrounded by forest on all sides. I could probably set off a bomb in the driveway and no one would notice.
Big Guy slid out of the truck, came around and pulled me out. He led me up the porch stairs and into the house. Sitting at a scarred wooden dining room table were three other guys who all rose when we walked in the room.
A thin guy with receding hair and dark-rimmed glasses stepped forward. “Is this her?”
“It’s her.”
He walked up to me. “Let’s make this quick. You tell us where the microchip is, and we don’t hurt you.”
“Right. You’ll just let me walk out of here.”
“We can be reasonable.”
“Uh-huh. What if I tell you I don’t have a clue where it is?”
He jerked his head toward the big guy. “Bacon will get the truth out of you, I assure you.”
I looked at the big guy. “Your name is Bacon?”
He shrugged. “It was Mom’s favorite food.”
The thin guy tapped me on the arm, coincidentally just inches from the microchip. “So, where is the chip, missy?”
I looked between the men, thinking fast. “I, uh, hid it.”
“Where?”
“In a safe place.”
“I will ask you one more time where it is, and then Bacon will start cutting you.”
I gulped and took a leap of faith. “Okay, I hid it in our hotel room at the Crazy Parrot Hotel. The one you guys trashed. I mean, I think it was you guys.”
He nodded and his eyes narrowed. “Are you telling the truth?”
“Geek’s honor.” I sincerely hoped the staff hadn’t had time to fix the damage to the room and rent it out because I certainly didn’t want to put anyone else at risk.
One of the other guys shook his head. “No way. We didn’t find it, boss. We looked.”
I lifted a hand. “No offense, guys, but it’s a microchip. As in microscopic. If I didn’t want anyone to find it, no one would.”
“Where exactly did you hide it?”
“Under the sink in the bathroom. Taped to the lid of a…uh, aerosol can of air freshener.”
Bacon looked incredulous. “You mean that hotel provides air freshener? Damn, our hotel was cheap.”
The thin man jerked his head at the other two guys. “Go get it.”
They dashed out and the thin man followed them.
“Where did the skinny guy go?” I asked.
“Dunno. He’ll be back.”
I suddenly had an idea. “Hey, Bacon, want me to look at your computer while we’re waiting? It’s not like I’m going anywhere soon.”
Bacon looked over his shoulder where Thin Guy had disappeared and then shrugged. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt anything.”
He took my elbow and steered me up a set of stairs to a fairly large bedroom with an unmade bed, clothes on the floor, and a computer so old I’m pretty sure it had been born before me.
“Do you have internet connection?” I asked him.
“Of course I do. But don’t think you can try anything funny. It’s password protected.”
“Good for you.” I sat at the computer with my cuffed hands in my lap. “Can you turn it on?”
He turned it on and, sure enough, the blue screen of death came up.
Bacon tapped the screen. “See, I told you it turned blue.”
“Well, the good news is I should be able to fix it. But it’s not going to be easy with my hands cuffed like this.”
“Forget it. I’m not taking the cuffs off. Either you fix it with the cuffs on or we’re out of here.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll do my best.” I placed my hands on the keyboard. “Just push the startup button again, will you?”
He pressed the button and I typed in a code before it stalled again. This time the computer started to work. It sounded a lot like a meat grinder, but it finally booted up.
Bacon whistled. “Damn, you really did fix it.”
“Not yet. I just got it to load in a safe mode. Give me some time.”
Once inside his computer, I pretended to work on the problem. In reality, I was hacking. It took me about one minute to find his internet connection and bypass his password. Then I connected to the Net, accessed my email and sent a message in code to both Elvis’s and Xavier’s accounts, telling them I was being held at a house with the number 6557 somewhere in Maryland.
Bacon started to get suspicious. “Why are you typing so much?”
“It’s how you talk to the computer.”
“It looks like jibberish. What are you saying?”
“I’m telling it not to loop back into that blue screen of death.”
Bacon narrowed his eyes. “Why is it taking so long?”
“This is an old computer.”
“You’re not trying to access the internet, are you?”
I hoped my expression looked innocent. “How would I do that? It’s password protected like you said.”
“Then why is that icon blinking?”
“It’s trying to establish a connection, but failing.”
“Oh.” Still, he sounded worried, as he well should be.
After a minute more, I really started to work on fixing his computer. I asked him to restart and this time the computer booted up fine.
“Well, there you have it,” I said. “You’re good to go.”
“What the hell are you doing?” The thin man came into the bedroom, shouting and swearing.
Bacon held up
his hands. “She fixed my computer, that’s all. She finally got it to start up.”
“You are such an idiot,” he screamed.
I stood up. “Whoa. I just did a courtesy fix of his computer. He had the blue screen of death.”
“Yeah.” Bacon put his meaty hands on his hips. “I had the blue screen of death.”
“She was probably contacting the police.”
“She can’t. First of all, the computer wasn’t even working. Secondly, I’m password protected.”
“You’re a moron.”
Exasperated, the thin guy grabbed my arm and squeezed, pressing right on the microchip. I clamped my lips together to keep from crying out as he dragged me from the room.
“You better not have been trying anything funny, missy.”
“Cross my heart and sincerely hope not to die.”
“They’d better bring me that microchip.”
I lifted my shoulders. “Actually, that’s out of my hands. I did my part and told you where it was. From this point on, you’re only as good as your henchmen.”
He didn’t appear at all amused and roughly pulled me down the stairs and into the kitchen. He forced me to sit and then opened a cabinet. Pulling out some whiskey, he unscrewed the top and took a swig right from the bottle. Bacon followed us in, opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk. He drank straight from the carton.
I wrinkled my nose. “Gross. You guys do know there are such things as glasses, right?”
The thin man glared at me. “Shut up.”
“Just saying.”
Bacon rummaged around in a drawer. “Hey, who ate all of my chocolate-covered raisins?”
“Probably Gordon.”
“Damn. I’m going have to talk to him. He knows better.”
It seemed unreal to be discussing raisins when my life was at stake. I cleared my throat. “So, now that I told you where the chip is, can I go?”
The thin guy laughed. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. So, listen up, missy. You’d better be telling the truth. If they don’t find that microchip, it’s slice and dice time for you.”
I tried to pretend like my heart wasn’t galloping like a racehorse on steroids. “They’ll find it. Then we’ll just part ways like one big happy family. Right?”
“Yeah, right.”
I looked around the room, observing the location of the small window over the sink and the distance to the back door. My hands were cuffed, but my legs were not. I’m not sure where I’d go out here in rural Maryland, but I wasn’t too proud to make a run for it. My gaze fell on a black-and-white framed photo hanging on the wall. It was a young woman with a little boy on her lap.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
Bacon grinned. “That’s me and Mama.”
“This is your house?”
“Born and raised here.”
I wondered whether Mama was alive and if so, what she thought of her little boy’s present occupation of cold-blooded killer. I was too chicken to ask, so I just sat there and kept my mouth shut.
The thin guy leaned forward on the table. “So, what kind of details did Nickelward give you about the chip?”
“Not much really.”
“You dated him and you didn’t talk much about the chip?”
“I did not date him. There was no dating whatsoever. I helped him with his computer. Once.”
“For that he gave you the microchip?”
“I guess so.”
“He must have been really desperate. So, you’re telling me you didn’t ask what the chip did?”
I lifted my cuffed hands. “I’m not nosy.”
The thin guy rubbed his index finger in a circle on the table. “You know, I don’t believe you. In fact, I’m wondering exactly how you factor into this. Why didn’t you tell the Secret Service the location of the chip?”
I blinked. Jeez, good question. I hadn’t planned my lie out that far. “You know I met with the Secret Service?”
“We’ve been watching you.”
Jeez, was there anyone in Ocean City not watching me?
He rubbed his finger faster and faster in a circle. “Answer my question. Why didn’t you give the chip to the Secret Service?”
Crappola. What was I supposed to say? “I, ah, wasn’t sure I could trust them.”
He raised an eyebrow. “They’re the Secret Service.”
“Yeah, but…I’m like distrustful of big government.”
He thumped his fist on the table and I jumped. “Don’t lie to me. Do you understand? I don’t like it.”
“Got it. No lying.”
He resumed rubbing his finger and I hoped I wouldn’t pass out from terror.
“It doesn’t matter. I already know why you didn’t give the chip to the Secret Service.”
“You do?”
“Because you were in on Nickelward’s double cross from the beginning.”
“I was?”
“You guys never intended to give us the real prototype, did you?”
“Um, no. I guess not.”
“You didn’t have a clue who you were trying to double-cross?”
“Nope. Not a clue.” My eyes darted around the room. This situation was intolerable. I had to form a new plan and get the heck out of here. Waiting until the thugs came back without the microchip wasn’t going to work. There had to be something in this house that would help me facilitate an escape. But first, I had to look around.
I cleared my throat. “I have to use the bathroom.”
The thin guy didn’t stop making his creepy finger circles. “Sounds like a personal problem.”
“I really have to go.”
“Too bad. Hold it.”
Bacon pulled out my chair. “I don’t want her pissing on my chair.”
“Fine. Then go with her. Keep the door open.”
Bacon yanked me out of the chair and led me to the bathroom. Shoving me in, he kept the door partially open.
I took a quick glance around. Small bathroom with a stand-up shower, toilet, sink and a tiny window that looked as if it were nailed shut too. A small cabinet under the sink was the only storage in the room.
“Can you at least turn around?” I yelled. “It’s going to take me a minute or more to get my jeans down with these cuffs on my hands.”
To my relief, Bacon turned his back. I tiptoed to the shower stall, looking for something in the caddy to help me out. Unfortunately, there was nothing, unless I thought I could brain Bacon senseless with a bar of soap and a plastic shampoo bottle. I tiptoed across the floor to the cabinet under the sink.
I managed to open one of the doors and saw extra toilet paper, wipes, cough medicine and a tube of toothpaste.
Nada.
My plan to get out of this place was going nowhere. I tried not to panic and keep a calm head.
Bacon grunted. “Are you done yet?”
I walked over to the toilet and pushed the handle down. I made a big deal of washing my hands and then came out. Bacon escorted me back to the kitchen and pushed me into a chair.
I shifted my hands on my lap, flexing my fingers, my mind racing. I had to formulate a plan of escape. I couldn’t count on the Zimmerman twins having freed themselves by now and checked their email. Even if they had, they’d still have to figure out where I was based only on a partial address. The minutes of my life were ticking away at a frightening speed. I needed more input, more information to figure out how to get the heck out of here. I had to get them talking.
“Ah, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you guys don’t seem the counterfeiting type.”
Thin Guy took another swig of whiskey, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And just what exactly is the counterfeiting typ
e?”
“I don’t know…organized, prepared, capable.”
He glared at me. “Are you trying to make me kill you?”
“Absolutely not. Just making an honest observation.”
Bacon put the milk back in the fridge. “We aren’t actually the counterfeiters. We’re just the middle men. Got ourselves a buyer for the chip.”
“Shut up, you fool!” The thin man threw the bottle of whiskey at Bacon and the big guy ducked at the last second possible. The bottle slammed into the side of the fridge and crashed to the floor in a dripping, glassy mess.
Bacon straightened, narrowing his eyes at the thin man. “That was unnecessary.”
“She’s baiting us. Trying to get information. So shut your trap.”
Bacon took a step forward, his shoe crunching on broken glass. “Seemed to me she was just being conversational.”
“Don’t defend her, you dimwit. You’re going to kill her.”
I held up my cuffed hands. “Hey! I thought if I cooperated, you weren’t going to hurt me.”
The thin guy rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You didn’t really believe that, did you?”
“Well, no. Not really. But a girl can always hope.”
“I don’t believe it. I’m surrounded by idiots.” He pulled a cast-iron frying pan out of a cabinet and put it on top of the stove. He turned on the gas burner and poured in a bit of oil to coat the pan.
“I’m going to eat,” he said. “Hand me the eggs and bacon, Bacon.” Laughing, he banged the pan on the burner. “Man, I’m so damn funny, aren’t I?”
I didn’t reply and when Bacon didn’t either, he frowned at the big guy. “For God’s sake, don’t just stand there like a dim bulb. Give me my damn food and clean up that mess.”
Bacon looked at me and then down at the broken shards of glass. After a moment, he opened the fridge and passed over the eggs and bacon. “The broom and dustpan are out in the barn. I’ll be back.”
He disappeared outside. With his departure, a plan appeared right before my eyes. My heart started to pound. It was risky, but plausible. I just had to have nerves of steel.
The thin guy peeled off several pieces of bacon and dropped them in the pan. They sizzled and he stepped back as the grease started to hiss and pop.
“I’m thirsty,” I said. “Can I have some water?”
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