Delirious

by Daniel Palmer

  Joe did most of the clearing, using his girth and raw strength to rip down branches and obstacles that inhibited their passage. Rachel kept watch, making sure the main road stayed in sight. Though they were all cold, none as yet were suffering from hypothermia. Even so, getting lost in the woods held the prospect of becoming a wrong turn from which they couldn’t recover.

  Charlie stayed silent and lost in thought. His mind raced to pick a prime suspect for the InVision sabotage. He recalled names of employees from California whom he had fired prior to the acquisition. Were any so angry they could have done something so deadly? Nobody he could think of seemed to fit the profile of a killer.

  No, Charlie thought. This person is special. They have to know the OS. It is an amazing feat of technical sabotage.

  Arthur Bean, the quality assurance engineer whose dismissal from SoluCent he had instigated, came to mind. He had the skills. The hack he’d posted broadcasting the minor security flaw to management proved that. But what about the motive? Charlie wondered. Did his dismissal warrant such a violent response? And why bring Joe into it? Something wasn’t adding up. There was more to this, other pieces of the puzzle that just weren’t fitting together.

  Who was Anne Pedersen? Was she involved? What did he see in Rudy Gomes’s apartment? How did it explain Randal’s tape recording of Gomes’s voice? These questions dominated Charlie’s thoughts as the three continued their silent march through the woods. And the question that stood out above all others was why?

  Rachel broke the silence. She was pointing northeast, about a hundred yards from the edge of the woods. “That looks like a gas station,” she said.

  Charlie saw the outer edges of a white building. He defogged his glasses and was able to make out what appeared to be rusted oil drums leaning up against a low chain-link fence some one hundred yards away.

  “Rachel, I can’t risk being identified. You go alone. Joe and I will wait here.”

  “And what is it that you want me to do?” she asked, hands on her hips. “I’m soaking wet. I have no ID, no cash, and no idea what we’re doing.”

  Charlie just smiled. He reached into his pants pocket and fished out a large, wet wad of cash. It was the remainder of the money he and Maxim had stolen. He didn’t know how much was there but figured it was enough to buy them a break.

  “The guy’s name is Arthur Bean,” he said. “I need to get his address. You should be able to do that with a quick call to information. He lives in Waltham.”

  “How do you know that?” Rachel asked.

  “Because I had to sign a formal letter of reprimand from HR after he leaked secrets about InVision. He used an unorthodox approach to convincing us to beef up InVision security,” Charlie explained. “I remember that he lived in Waltham, because Joe and my mother lived there as well. That letter might have very well cost him his job.”

  “He tried to help you guys out, and you personally slammed him?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Charlie said. “Ain’t I a peach?”

  “Okay, so I get Bean’s address. What then?” said Rachel.

  “Get us a ride to his house. No questions asked,” Charlie replied.

  Rachel stretched out her arm, palm to the sky. Charlie stuffed the soaking wet wad of cash in the palm of her hand.

  Chapter 68

  Rachel leapt over the chain-link fence separating the building’s grounds from the woods’ edge with a hurdler’s grace. She walked to the front of the building, mindful that her wet clothes were enough to raise suspicions. The front lot was littered with cars, all in varying stages of being disassembled, presumably for parts.

  The place was Wilson’s Automotive Repair, at least according to the sign hanging crooked above the large garage bay doors. Where the paint hadn’t faded, large rust stains made certain most of the sign was illegible. The unkempt grounds around Wilson’s Automotive Repair and the paint-chipped building exterior suggested that whoever the owner was, he relied heavily on his car repair skills and not aesthetics to lure potential customers into the shop. What little grass there was had been overrun by weeds and adorned with discarded car parts or crumpled soda cans.

  The repair shop featured two large bays, each with its own hydraulic lift. Both bays were empty. If Wilson was working, she couldn’t tell. Both of the bay doors were open, and Rachel could hear music. She entered through the right repair bay, careful not to step in several small pools of oil and fluids congealing on the cement floor.

  “Hello,” she called out. “Anybody here?”

  From a small office at the back of the shop she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps. A man emerged. He wore a greasy Red Sox cap and a black T-shirt with the word taxes in the center of a thick red circle with a slash running through it. He had on a pair of denim jeans covered by several wide, dark stains. His face was wrinkled and hard, but she took him to be more wise than angry. The white of his beard helped to soften some of his hardness. Santa’s grease monkey.

  “Yeah?” he called out, rubbing dirt and grime from his hands onto his jeans.

  “I need your help,” Rachel said.

  He made it a point to look around the shop and shook his head. “Gonna be at least a week before I could get to it,” he said. “We’re booked solid.”

  She looked around the empty bays and outside at the lot full of junked cars. The words we and booked solid almost made her laugh; still she managed the needed restraint.

  “I have a different request,” Rachel said.

  “Oh?”

  “I was wondering if I could use your phone.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Phone’s in the office.”

  He pointed behind him. As she neared, he could see that her clothes and hair were soaked. He made it a point to look outside, in case he had missed that it was raining. When he saw the sun shining, his eyes narrowed.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked. “You in some kind of trouble?”

  “What if I said yes?” Rachel said.

  The man laughed. It was a warm laugh, one that evoked countless nights of whiskey, cards, and raw jokes. “I’d say why didn’t you go to the police?”

  He wasn’t flirting. There was, however, something playful about him. She liked him even more.

  “I can’t go to the police,” was all she said.

  He cocked a knowing grin. “Oh, you can’t, can you?” he said. “Well, I know a thing or two about that. Think they’re on your side, and next thing you know, they’re shutting you down because of some fucking permit that’s run out. Assholes.”

  “So you get it?” Rachel asked. She was playing into the antiestab-lishment philosophy advertised on his T-shirt.

  “Yeah, I get it. Nearly shut this place. Didn’t care none that Dorothy wouldn’t have been able to afford her medication. I’d have had to go to Canada to get it, and who knows what quality I’d be getting? Assholes.”

  “Right,” Rachel said, smiling more. “I have something for you, but it comes with favor number two.”

  He cocked his head sideways and gave her a shifty, skeptical look. “Favor number two?”

  “It would buy a lot of medicine,” Rachel said. She pulled the wad of wet cash from her pocket.

  Wilson’s eyes widened. “What’s the favor?” he asked.

  “I need a ride. You got a pickup?”

  Wilson nodded.

  “Two friends are coming. They both go in the back, under a tarp. Drive us to Waltham. I’ll use your phone to get the address. No questions asked.”

  Wilson took the cash and began to count. “That’s a lot of money for a short ride,” he said. Then he paused and let loose another crooked smile. “But I do have trouble turning down a tax-free job.”

  Chapter 69

  Charlie’s spirits brightened. A white pickup truck had pulled parallel to the road, then had backed up until its tailgate nearly abutted the chain-link fence. A man got out of the driver’s side and walked back toward the rear of the truck. He lowered the tailgate and climbe
d back into the cab. Charlie heard police sirens wail. He held up a hand to Joe, who seemed ready to make a dash for the fence. He wanted to wait for the first batch of sirens to pass before they made their move.

  From their crouched position, concealed from view by brush and trees, the brothers watched as first one, then three more police cruisers screamed past. A fire truck, ambulance, and several civilian cars followed, each with strobe lights attached. Charlie assumed those were the volunteer firefighters’ cars. There was no doubt they were heading to the bridge. Somebody had seen the smashed guardrail, but probably not the crash. When it was safe, Charlie signaled and the brothers took off running.

  Charlie helped Joe step over the fence. They climbed into the truck bed and slipped under a blue plastic tarp. There was only dim, bluish-hued light underneath the tarp, and the air within grew increasingly stale. Charlie grabbed a corner of the tarp and pulled it back a bit. From outside they heard footsteps.

  “Charlie, we’re getting a ride,” Rachel said. “I have the address. Dave here is kind enough to take us. We need to bungee the tarp to keep it from blowing off during the drive. Put these blankets over you to fight off the cold.”

  Charlie caught only a glimpse of Rachel when she uncovered the tarp to hand them the blankets. Her eyes felt more warming than the sun.

  “Thank you,” Charlie whispered to her.

  She smiled down at him but said nothing. They were once again plunged into the dark bluish light under the tarp. But at least they were warmer. The truck bed vibrated from the churn of the motor. The wheels crunched the gravel and stone underneath. Seconds later they were heading in the opposite direction of the bridge, west on some main road. The brothers pulled their legs tightly to their chests to shield them from the cold. Thankfully Rachel had had the foresight to give them the blankets. If not, they’d both be icicles by the time they got to Bean’s apartment.

  They rode in silence until Joe spoke.

  “I’m so sorry,” Joe said.

  “Joe, it wasn’t you, got that?” Charlie said. “Somebody knew enough to use you. That’s all.”

  “But I killed people,” Joe said. “I did it.”

  Charlie shifted position so that he could see his brother’s face. The truck had picked up speed. They were on the highway now. Charlie had to shout to be heard.

  “Do you remember anything?” Charlie asked. “Rudy Gomes? Do you remember ever meeting him? Hurting him?”

  Joe shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t remember a thing. All I can remember are these horrible nightmares I’ve been having lately. I killed two men in the one I had last night.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” Charlie said.

  “I’m scared, Charlie.”

  “Whatever happens,” Charlie called out, “you’re my brother. I will fight for you. We both know the truth. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “You know something?” Joe shouted back. “For the first time since we were kids, I actually believe you.”

  Chapter 70

  Rachel, Charlie, and Joe stood outside Arthur Bean’s apartment in Waltham. Charlie never saw the face of the man who had driven them there. Rachel had waved good-bye and said something to the driver. He’d left with a single toot of his horn, turned the truck right onto Main Street, and driven out of sight.

  Charlie knew the neighborhood well. It couldn’t be more than a few miles from where Joe lived with their mother. Where they all lived, he reminded himself. Arthur Bean lived on Pleasant Street, only a short walk to a robust downtown with plenty of shopping, restaurants, and a well-respected art house cinema.

  Charlie didn’t know much about Bean but thought he was married. Rachel made a move toward the apartment entrance. She stopped at the steps.

  “My watch died when it got wet,” she said, looking down at her wrist. “But it has to be after ten. What makes you think he’ll be home?”

  Charlie laughed. “Bean’s like a lot of coders I know. Even if he got a new job, that guy keeps vampire hours. The only way he’s not home is if he’s on vacation.”

  “Let’s hope for you that he kept his new gig local,” Rachel said.

  Together they climbed the short flight of stairs and rang the bell to the second-floor apartment. Then they waited.

  Charlie heard footsteps and he saw through a window on the door Arthur Bean run down the stairs to the small foyer. Bean was a short, stocky man with a flat nose, deep-set eyes, and a wide face bordered by a bushy dark beard. Between the beard and his thick arms and legs, Charlie couldn’t help but think of the dwarf from the film trilogy The Lord of the Rings. He held a steaming mug of coffee, which dropped and shattered on the wooden floor once he saw who was greeting him.

  “Holy Jesus,” he said. “Charlie, everybody is looking for … I mean, everybody,” he stammered. He managed another “Holy Jesus” before backing away.

  Charlie didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside the small foyer as Bean backed himself up the stairs leading to his second-floor apartment.

  “Arthur, I need your help,” Charlie said.

  Bean continued his retreat. “You need more than my help,” he said.

  “I know what the police reports are saying,” Charlie said. “But it’s not as it seems. This is Dr. Rachel Evans.” Charlie motioned toward her. “She’s with Walderman Hospital in Belmont. And this is my brother, Joe.”

  “Yeah?” Bean asked. “Great to meet you all. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to call the cops.”

  “Arthur,” Rachel said in her best psychologist tone. “Somebody is using InVision to control Charlie’s brother. They’ve hacked into it and used sound and music to trigger epileptic seizures.”

  Bean interrupted his retreat a moment and crossed his arms. He was a third of the way up the stairs. “Hacked into InVision,” he breathed. “I told you that OS was a sieve.”

  “I know you did, Arthur. I know. But now I need your help,” said Charlie.

  “You’re wanted for murder, Charlie,” Bean said. “I can’t help you.”

  “Look,” Charlie said, holding up the waterlogged InVision system he had extracted from Joe’s Camry. “I need to get at the system registry. Somebody hacked it, and I’m hoping there is still an artifact of the IP used. Just give me ten minutes of your time. Take a look at the OS. If you don’t see anything that looks like a hack to you, I’ll dial the cops myself.”

  Rachel and Joe looked at Charlie with alarm. Bean uncrossed his arms. Charlie took his blank expression as him calculating his next move.

  “Look, Arthur,” Charlie said. “I know that I treated you unfairly. I was wrong. But there is nothing I can do to take it back. If I could, I would. But I promise you, what we’re saying is true. And you’re the only person who can keep my brother and me from spending the rest of our lives in prison for something we didn’t do. Ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “You guys are soaked,” Bean said.

  “The InVision system triggered my seizure,” Joe said. “Then it commanded me to drive my car off a bridge and into a lake. I would have killed my brother and Rachel. Arthur, please help us. We have to know what is going on.”

  “I knew that thing was a traveling security hole,” Bean said.

  “Will you help us?” Rachel asked.

  “Ten minutes,” Bean said. “If I don’t find anything, I’m calling the cops. Give me five minutes to set up a Webcam. If you guys try anything stupid, all I have to do is hit SEND and I’ll have the police here faster than you can say nine-one-one.”

  Chapter 71

  “Holy shit,” Bean whispered.

  “What is it?” Charlie asked, leaning over Bean’s shoulder to get a better look.

  Arthur Bean’s crowded office looked like a science experiment gone haywire. Dozens of computers were strewn about the tiny room, which had once been the back porch. He had converted it into his personal lab. At least half of the computers were open, revealing a multitude of wires and circuit boar
ds.

  Bean had put the waterlogged InVision system onto his desk and plugged it into his desktop computer through a standard USB connection. Arthur Bean was able to access the system’s computer code and the OS using a graphical user interface tool designed for coders and instrumental in debugging applications. He was scanning through endless lines of complex computer code with the efficiency of a speed reader.

  “Unbelievable,” Bean said.

  “What? What’s unbelievable?” Charlie asked, peering closer at the nineteen-inch flat-panel computer monitor.

  “This is no hack job,” Bean said.

  “What do you mean?” Charlie asked.

  Joe and Rachel remained seated on a sofa at the far end of the makeshift lab. Their ears perked up. They both leaned in closer to get a better listen.

  “I mean, whoever modified the application knew a lot more about the internal workings than just a regular hack.”

  “So you agree the code’s been compromised?” Charlie asked.

  “Agree? The freaking thing has been rewritten,” said Bean.

  “By whom?” Charlie asked, more to himself than to Bean.

  “Well, that’s the best part. So you’re right about the protocol used to control this InVision system. It’s not the Wi-Fi. It’s definitely the I P. But what’s great is that there’s a lot of work put into masking any trace of the IP.”

  “What’s great about that?” Charlie asked. “Without an I P, I won’t be able to trace the source.”

  “Well, let’s just say, if your clothes weren’t soaking wet, we might be out of luck.”

  Charlie looked blankly at Bean. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Whoever did this had to write the IP to the OS registry. Otherwise the ports communicating from wherever this person was located back to the InVision system would have been closed. The application is coded to erase the IP once a session ends. It’s like deleting an e-mail or a voice mail, but in such a way that it could never be retrieved, because it’s written at the lowest level of the operating system. When it’s gone, it’s gone forever.”