Nodding, Mary pushed herself to her feet. “Is he dead?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Potter. “I’ve seen dead before. That’s it. You know him?”
“No. But he knew me. He wanted the disk.”
“What disk is that?”
Mary found the transparent sleeve a few feet away. “This one,” she said, picking it up. “I had it burned in the manager’s office. It shows Joe meeting his contact at the café. I’ve met him. The waitress said Joe called him Boots. I can’t remember his real name, but if I look at him long enough, I’m sure it’ll come to me.”
“Good news.”
Mary brushed the dust from her palms. She felt faint and queasy, and her breath was coming too fast. She stepped toward Potter and her knees buckled. The reporter moved swiftly and caught her. “He was going to kill me,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. I believe that’s what he does.”
“Thanks for catching me,” said Mary. “And also for…well, you know.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you. When Mason let me go after ramming his car, he couldn’t have hoisted the red flag any higher.”
“Didn’t he threaten you with prison if you continued to interfere?”
“So? I’ve lost my job, my pension, and my reputation. Going to jail can’t be any worse. You have more to lose than I do.”
“You asked me what kind of Kool-Aid Mason gave me. It was the kind about endangering national security and damaging all the hard work Joe had put in.”
“That’s their standard line. And here I was thinking you were a true believer.”
“I am,” said Mary. “Or else I wouldn’t be here.”
She looked down at the body, then swiveled her shoulders left and right, checking the landscape around them. Everywhere lurked silhouettes and shadows. It was difficult to see more than forty feet. A steady wind blew, bringing sounds of passing traffic from the highway and the eerie stillness of the plains.
“I ought to call the police.”
“That’s the right thing to do.”
Mary punched in 911 but stopped before hitting Send. “He said he knew everything about me. He said that he knew I’d be here and that we were going to the morgue earlier and that you had visited me to ask about Joe.”
“They were listening to us.”
“How?”
“My phone, for one. When I called my buddy at the ME’s office—the guy who let me take the pictures of your husband and the informant—he told me that Mason and Bennett were getting your husband ready to go. He didn’t expect them to roll out of there until two or so. Do you remember how fast they were hauling ass when we arrived? The first sedan almost ran you over.”
“What’s your point?”
“Someone told Mason we were coming.”
“Him?” Mary looked at the dead man.
“Or the people he works for.”
“Then it means…” Mary didn’t want to finish the sentence. It didn’t seem possible that there could be a connection between the killer lying at their feet and Edward Mason.
“You still want to call the police?”
“We have to.”
“Your husband didn’t call the police when he was in trouble.” He paused. “Or the FBI.”
Mary considered this. She wondered what you called it when everything you’d spent your entire life believing was true and inviolate turned out to be false and manipulative. And you knew that you were alone. Absolutely alone.
After a moment she knelt beside the corpse and searched him for identification, grimacing as her fingers touched flesh and viscera and other things she didn’t care to imagine. “Just what did you shoot him with?”
“Twelve-gauge. It does the trick.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“Javelina. Wild boar. This is my first man. I felt worse for the animals.”
Mary handed Potter the dead man’s phone and returned Joe’s Glock to her holster. She felt something hard and angular in the man’s pocket. Car keys.
“Phone’s locked,” said Potter. “You get anything else?”
“No wallet. Just the keys.”
Tank handed Mary his shotgun and crouched, his ruined knees sounding like millstones colliding. He pulled off the man’s cap and used the phone’s flashlight to read the name inscribed in Marks-A-Lot on the sweatband. “McNair,” he said. “It’s a start.”
Mary gave him a hand to get to his feet. The knees cracked again, and she winced. “Sounds bad.”
“I’m asking Santa for a knee replacement. I’m still waiting to see when the concussions kick in. My head took as many hits as my body.”
“Drinking isn’t going to help.”
“No, it isn’t. By the way, I was already fired. Laid off, actually. The DUI just hurried up the process.”
The hour had gotten to 10:40. The moon was a sliver high in the sky. Stars punched through the canopy like machine-gun bullets. She looked back at the corpse. A man had been killed. The incident needed to be reported. She was the admiral’s daughter, and the admiral did everything by the book. “We have to call the police.”
“Mason will have us in jail by midnight,” said Potter. “National security.”
“They’ll find us anyway.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. In the meantime we’ll figure this thing out. Maybe it’s them who’ll be running.”
“Big words.”
“I’m a journalist. I like ’em big.”
The dead man’s phone made a pinging noise. “Incoming text from someone named Briggs. Take a look.”
Mary glanced at the phone. The text read: “Done?” “That big enough for you?”
“We need to go,” said Tank.
Mary gave Potter back his shotgun and tossed him McNair’s car keys. The two jogged across the flat landscape, winding their way around clumps of mesquite. They mounted the berm and ran down the other side to Mary’s car. The Jeep was parked next to it. Halfway across the lot was McNair’s pickup.
No lights burned from the café. Even the neon cowboy had gone dark.
“Fifty bucks says the truck’s registered to him.”
“Don’t even think about it. Whoever sent that text is probably waiting a mile up the road. I don’t want to be here when he comes to check why McNair didn’t answer him.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Be quick.”
“Lady, quick is not an adjective that belongs anywhere near my name. But I promise to be thorough and I’ll try to be swift.”
Potter half ran, half hobbled to the truck. A minute passed, and another. She tapped her foot, wishing he would come back, her eyes on the highway and the access road feeding into the lot. She thought of calling the girls to reassure them. It was late. She was sure they were asleep by now—Grace at least. Instead she texted Jessie: “Home in forty minutes. Turn off the computer now and go to sleep. Love U.”
Finally Potter left the truck and jogged back to her.
“Well?” she asked.
“Found some weed,” said Potter, tossing a clear pouch to the ground. “Also found his automobile registration and insurance cards. His name is William James McNair.”
“Anything else?”
“Wallet. Driver’s license.”
“Does he have a business card?”
“Didn’t see one. We can check the rest later.”
“That truck was here three days ago. I saw it on one of the surveillance feeds. It was parked close to the entrance when Joe left the café.”
“He must have been watching Joe,” said Tank.
“You think that’s all he did?”
Just then Mary’s phone vibrated in her hand. Text from Jessie: “Night, Mom. Love you.” Mary breathed easier. “Love you too, sweetie,” she replied. “On my way.”
“Everything okay?” asked Potter.
“It’s Jessie, saying good night.”
�
�She’s at home, right?”
“Looking after Grace.”
“Good.”
Only then did Mary register Potter’s worried expression. “Why?”
“I didn’t come out here only to see Cal. I came to find you. I drove by your place earlier, and when I didn’t see your car, I figured you probably had the same idea as me.”
“And?”
Tank drew a breath and related the details of his visit to Carlos Cantu’s house. Mary felt cold and alone.
“This isn’t over,” he said. “They want you, me, and Carlos dead, and they’re not going to stop until they succeed.”
“I need to get home.”
66
Thump!
Grace heard the noise coming from upstairs and muted the television. She sat frozen, breath locked inside her chest. The noise sounded heavy and hollow. Like a footstep.
The hackers had come. It was the people who had broken into Mom’s phone. Now they were here. They were upstairs.
Thump!
Grace jumped in her skin. It was a footstep, and it came from the room directly above her. Jessie’s room. She called her sister, but Jess didn’t answer. “Come home,” she texted. “Someone’s in the house.”
She clicked on her mom’s number but didn’t call. Not yet. Jess would kill her.
Grace rose from the couch and as quietly as possible walked to the base of the stairs. She stood there looking up, heart pounding. The hall lights were on. She thought she saw a shadow up there. She called Jess again. Again there was no answer.
The hackers were blocking her calls.
Grace began to tremble. She reasoned that she had three choices. Call Mom. Run to the Kramers’. Or go upstairs and confront whoever was there.
She couldn’t call Mom. Going to the Kramers’ was also out. Carrie would call her mom in a second, and Jess’s secret would be out of the bag. She remembered Mom saying that problems don’t get any smaller if you just stare at them. If Dad were here, he’d already be upstairs checking out what was making the sound. He wasn’t afraid of hackers or anyone else.
“I’m coming up,” she shouted. “If anyone’s there, go away. I’m warning you!”
She started up the stairs, pausing at each one to listen. It was quiet. The hackers were hiding, waiting. She didn’t know how anyone could get inside, let alone all the way upstairs without her hearing them. Still, everyone knew that thieves and murderers were clever and athletic, and it was hackers who had killed her dad. If they wanted to get in and kill her, they could.
Her phone made that whistling noise. Jessie texted back: “No one’s there, scaredy-cat. Go to bed. Mom will be home soon.”
Grace didn’t bother answering. She swallowed and climbed another stair.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Grace took off up the stairs. The noises weren’t footsteps. Something was buzzing around, hitting the wall over and over. Hackers wouldn’t do that. They were sneaky and bad, but they didn’t buzz.
She reached Jessie’s room and opened the door. Something big and green shot through the air at her. She ducked, barely able to keep from screaming.
Thump!
The big green glob bounced off the wall and kept flying. She retreated into the hall and watched the cicada going crazy. Stupid Jess had left her window open and the bug had flown inside. She watched it zigging and zagging around the room. It wasn’t one cicada but two, one on top of the other as if they were glued together.
Yuck, thought Grace, they’re doing it.
She hurried across the room and opened a second window and ran around waving her arms. Finally the mating cicadas flew outside. She closed the windows and ran downstairs. She was too creeped out to stay upstairs.
In the kitchen she poured herself a glass of milk and took two Oreos out of the bag. She sat at Mom’s alcove and went on the computer. As always, she checked her e-mails first. She had four new messages. Her eye caught the third one down. “Cutest Sloth in the World! Watch this!”
Grace opened the message. The text read, “Watch this and die laughing. He is sooooo adorable!” A hyperlink was printed below it.
Grace positioned the cursor over the hyperlink but didn’t click right away. Jess was always warning her and Mom about getting dangerous stuff in their e-mails. Never open an attachment, she told them, if you don’t know who sent it to you. Something inside it could mess up your computer.
But a video about sloths? They watched tons of videos on YouTube about sloths.
Grace double-clicked on the hyperlink and was taken to the video. She watched, giggling as a baby sloth did its best to crawl out of a child’s crib, gripping the slick wooden slats, climbing up a little, then sliding back down to the mattress and lolling on its back. The camera zoomed in as the sloth yawned, and Grace burst out laughing. A teenage girl reached into the crib, picked up the sloth, and cradled it to her chest. The sloth laid its head on her shoulder, eyes staring at the camera, wet nose sniffing contentedly.
Grace thought about Fluffy, her hamster. He’d been a climber, too, though he didn’t yawn. Still, her heart ached for him. Jessie said Fluffy was only a furry rodent and he didn’t have a personality, but Grace had loved him all the same.
She watched the video again and then once more after that. She decided she wanted a sloth. A three-toed South American tree sloth.
Before logging off, she forwarded the video to Jessie. Smiling, she went upstairs and crawled into bed.
Even Jessie would love the sloth.
If she ever got home…
67
“Do you know him?” Jessie asked.
“Rudeboy”? Linus scratched his beard. “Why should I?”
“I mean, do you at least know who he is? Like his name?”
“He’s Rudeboy. That’s all. No one knows his name. I imagine his parents do, and his close friends, but to us…no clue. That’s how he’s able to do what he does. You know, making service attacks on Amazon, shutting down the navy’s mainframe for two hours, wiping half the hard drives of the biggest oil company in Saudi Arabia.”
“Then how do you know he’s at DEF CON?”
“He’s won Capture the Flag seven years running. He has to defend his title. Of course he’s there.”
Jessie pulled up the DEF CON website. It showed a skull-and-crossbones pennant and gave the place and dates. “Crap,” she said. “It ends tomorrow.” She looked at Linus. “When do they play?”
“Play what?” asked Garrett.
“The last day,” said Linus. “Capture the Flag begins at eight in the morning. They want to make sure everyone’s still hungover.”
“How long does it take?”
“As long as it takes. Eight hours. Ten. Depends on who has the strongest team.”
“But you said that Rudeboy solved the hack in five minutes,” Jessie retorted.
“Yeah, the hardest one, but there’s a bunch more.”
“Why didn’t you go this year?”
“I’m teaching. I can’t just cop out and fly to Vegas.”
Jessie pulled up the website for Bergstrom International Airport and checked the flight schedule. “The last flight to Las Vegas leaves at eleven. It’s already ten-thirty.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Linus, waving a concerned hand. “You’re not going to Vegas.”
“Who says?”
“Yeah,” said Garrett. “Your mom isn’t going to let you just go there alone.”
Jessie shot him a venomous look.
“It’s not that,” said Linus. “You’re not signed up for DEF CON. You have to register for the conference, and then you have to qualify to play the game. They don’t let just anyone into the competition. You have to be part of a team.”
“How much is it?” asked Jessie.
“I don’t know,” said Linus. “I think I paid eight hundred bucks last year. But that’s beside the point. Didn’t you hear what I said? You don’t have a team.”
“What about yours?”
&
nbsp; “I told you, I’m not playing.”
“Don’t you know anyone who is?”
“Sure. But—”
“Call them. Tell them to let me play with them.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Jessie double-clicked on the flight number to bring up all the details. Her heart jumped. “It’s delayed!”
“What’s delayed?” asked Linus.
“The flight.” Jessie realized she was shouting and told herself to get a grip. It was hard to be calm. For a second she believed that it all might just work. She would go to Vegas. She would play on the team with Linus’s friends. She’d help them win it and afterward meet Rudeboy, who would solve the mystery of the unknown code in the drop of a hat and tell her who had hacked into her mother’s phone. Jessie would figure out who had killed her father. “I’ll pay the fee,” she said. “I’ll pay for your ticket. All you have to do is come with me and introduce me to your friends.”
“I can’t go, Jess. I’m sorry.”
Jessie held out her phone. “Call them. Please. I won’t embarrass you.”
“Jess, your mom will kill you,” said Garrett.
“Fine,” said Jessie. “As long as it’s after we win.”
Linus continued to shake his head. “How long is the flight delayed?” Jessie swallowed. He was considering it. Linus was actually considering it. “It doesn’t say.”
“Jess, you’re not serious,” said Garrett.
“Shh.” Jessie called the airline and navigated as quickly as possible through the automated directory. It took two minutes before a human being picked up. “I’m calling about Flight 2998 to Las Vegas. I see it’s delayed.”
“That flight is closed. Boarding is about to begin.”
Jessie turned away from the others, bowing her head. She began to cry. “My father just died. His name is Joseph Grant. He’s in Las Vegas and the police need me to help them answer some questions. They think he was murdered. Please, ma’am. It’s a family emergency. I have to get there. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Hold one moment.”
Jessie lifted her head and stared at Linus, her cheeks dry. “Half of being a good hacker is social engineering, right?”
Invasion of Privacy: A Novel Page 24