by E B Corbin
Sam rushed into her bedroom. Her clothes from yesterday flung over the chair at the window, her suitcase in its place in the closet, her bed undisturbed. But things were off, just a little.
Her clothes lay rumpled in a ball, not stretched flat the way she piled them. Her suitcase sat in the middle of the walk-in closet, not tucked in the corner where it should be and the closet door was closed, not hanging open in her usual manner.
She held her breath as she fished between the mattress and box spring. Her shoulders slumped in relief when she felt the cold metal of her MacBook, safely tucked where she had left it. Thank God whoever searched the place hadn’t found her computer.
She had spent hours loading the laptop with special programs and apps she needed to keep ahead of Jules and her father. It would have been a catastrophe. She decided she needed to do better than hope her secrets stayed safe.
She couldn’t keep something the size of her laptop with her at all times, but she could keep a thumb drive. She should have duplicated her hard drive long ago. Stupid not to think of that before.
“Tomorrow we’ll go to an Apple store, first thing.”
Henry stood in the doorway, watching her clutch the laptop in relief. “Fine by me. I seem to need a new computer.”
“How did they get in?”
“If it was the building burglars, with a master key. The same as all the other robberies in the building. Lucky we didn’t have any valuables with us.”
“You think it’s the same person or persons who’ve been burglarizing this building?”
“Could be. Or else it’s someone sent by your father or your friend Jules to look for information about the money you keep moving around.”
“No way my father would know where we are.”
“Don’t be so sure. Those two goons in the truck seem to know where we are every minute. There’s no doubt in my mind they’re working for your father.”
Sam knew he could be right, but she didn’t want to accept it. She grabbed her purse and dumped the contents on the bed. “There must be a tracker somewhere. It can’t be on the car because we switched them.”
“And the first time they found us we were in Stacy’s Volvo. It must be in that mess somewhere.” Henry pointed to the spilled contents of her purse.
Carefully inspecting her seldom-used lipstick, she saw no signs of tampering, but set it aside to be safe. She did the same with a travel pack of Kleenex and the loose change that had collected in the bottom of her bag. Only her wallet and gun remained.
She went through her wallet, feeling around for any bulges in the leather, then pulled every credit card from its slot, turning them over in her hand. “I don’t think they’re tracking by credit card. Each one is for a different company.”
“How many companies do you have? I thought there was just one.” Henry picked up her snub-nosed .44 Magnum revolver.
“Ten but only four have credit or debit cards attached.”
“That must be a trick to keeping track of all of them.”
“It is, but I can’t keep it all in one place. At least this way, if Jules finds one, all is not lost.”
“Makes sense, I guess.” Henry turned the gun over in his hand. “This has to have some serious kick.”
She smiled. “It does but it also packs a punch. I kind of rescued it from my father’s gun collection before his personal items were seized after his arrest.”
“I heard these Mountain guns were hard to find.”
“They are. My father had been enamored with .44 revolvers since Clint Eastwood movies in the ’70s. When Smith & Wesson started making the Mountain gun in the ’80s, I guess he felt he had to have one.” She shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. It was after my mother left him.”
He inspected the revolver with admiration. “These are collector’s items. Should you be carrying it around in your purse?”
“It’s a good size. Fits easily into my bag. And I like the stopping power.”
“Still, you only have six shots. You’d have 15 with a .9 mm.”
Sam lifted her eyebrows. “If I need 15 shots to hit something, I’m in trouble.”
He accepted he wouldn’t change her mind, but took the gun with him to the kitchen counter. Sam followed him, a frown creasing her forehead. She watched as he popped the cylinder and dumped six bullets into his hand.
He set them aside without inspecting them. “They wouldn’t track the ammo. Too risky to lose you once you’ve fired the gun.”
“And too difficult to supply a whole box with tracking devices.” Sam leaned over Henry’s shoulder as he began to disassemble the revolver. He dug a cleaning kit out of his duffel and began a thorough inspection of the barrel. He pushed a soft rag through the cylindrical opening several times, inspecting the rag after each swipe.
He shook the rag out on the countertop watching for any tiny items that dropped out. Nothing. He turned the gun over in his hand, feeling around for the most microscopic bump in the wrong place. Nothing.
He wished he had a magnifying glass to be certain, but he spotted nothing wrong with the revolver. Still, he couldn’t quiet the buzzing that began when he had picked up the gun. Somewhere, somehow, the .44 was being tracked. “Your gun is the culprit.”
“What are you talking about? It can’t be. I clean that gun meticulously every week.”
The longer he stared at the gun, the more the buzzing increased. He had no doubt it was the gun, but he didn’t know how to convince Sam without giving away his secret. “You’ve had this gun with you every minute since we unpacked, haven’t you?”
“Of course. Won’t do me much good sitting in my suitcase.” Sam couldn’t accept that the gun was the source of their problem. She held the black American Express card in her hand and tapped it on the counter. “I’ve had this with me too.”
Henry gazed at the card, but got no indication it was the culprit. When he turned his attention back to the gun, the buzzing returned. “It’s the gun. I’m sure of it.”
Sam grabbed the revolver, snapped it together and reloaded the bullets. “Unless there’s some sort of magical invisible tracker, we would have found it. I’m not giving up my gun.”
Henry heaved a sigh of disgust. “Take one of my guns for protection until we can get you a new one.”
She shook her head. “No. My gun stays with me. Besides, you only have the .9 mm and that little peashooter you keep for backup. If I take the Beretta that would leave you with less firepower.”
“You take the .380. It’s not that much less and it’s a Ruger .38 Special. It’s got a real smooth trigger pull.”
“I’d have to practically be on top of someone to hit them with that thing.”
“We’ll find a range. You can practice with it.”
“I’m keeping my .44. I’m not giving it up until I’m sure it’s the culprit. I’d hate to have to find a replacement for it.”
“Even if I’m right?”
She thought over his claim. “We’ll do a test run. Tomorrow, I’ll leave the gun in the apartment when we go out. If those goons don’t show up, I’ll give some consideration to replacing it. But I’m not taking your backup. You never know when you might need it.”
“I won’t need it. I even have a nice little ankle holster for it.”
“Okay, we’ll do it your way.” She turned her gun over in her hand. “Damn! I sure hope it’s not responsible. I hate to give it up.”
“You know, those guys following us have to be connected to your father, if they’re tracking his gun.”
“We don’t know that for sure. It might not be the gun. They may have slipped something into my bag when we weren’t looking.”
“But you didn’t find anything in your purse. So where is it?”
“Check your pockets.”
“No one slipped anything into my pockets without me knowing. But if it will make you feel better…” Henry turned his jeans pockets inside out then picked up his leather jacket and did the same. He felt a
round the entire lining to be certain. “Nothing.”
Sam did the same with her jeans and jacket. “Nothing here either.”
“We’re back to the gun as the most likely possibility.” Henry glanced at the revolver where it sat on the counter.
“If it is, the tracker is so well hidden we might never find it.” Sam stared at the gun. “Damn! It has to be Jules’s doing. I know that without his help, my father wouldn’t have a clue about electronics. I’ve got to find a way to turn Jules.”
“What makes you think you can do that? It hasn’t worked so far.”
“He only cares about himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes the money if he ever finds it. My father is at a disadvantage ’cause he doesn’t have the skills to locate the funds himself.”
“Those tech types are a dime a dozen. If not Jules, he’d find someone else to do his dirty work. He’s in a white-collar prison, right?”
Sam nodded.
“Then he probably has his pick of dozens to replace Jules.”
Sam shook her head. “If they were any good, they wouldn’t be in prison in the first place. Why do you think my father is stringing Jules along? He doesn’t trust him, I know that. He doesn’t trust anyone. He’s using him to get what he wants. And I wouldn’t be surprised if anything happens to me, he finds a way to blame it on Jules.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let it.”
“I hope not, but just in case…”
“Nope. Don’t want to talk about it.” He moved into the hallway.
“Listen to me! If something happens to me, I want you to turn all the money over to the FBI or SEC or someone. Let them deal with it.”
“You don’t want me to continue returning the money to the victims?”
“It’s not your responsibility. I wouldn’t ask you to put yourself in danger for something you had nothing to do with.”
“It’s a moot point. Between the two of us, no one is going to get to you.” Henry kept glancing at the entrance door as he talked. “We need to find a way to secure that door.”
Sam stifled a yawn as the events of the day crashed down. “For tonight, stick a chair in front of it. Or rig up something to make noise. We certainly can’t rely on the security system. Tomorrow we should find a new place.”
“We already have a busy day tomorrow.”
Sam went into her bedroom and came back with the laptop clutched to her chest. “We have to try to contact Jules again.”
Henry nodded. “You want me to set it up?”
“Yeah, my VPN may not be enough to keep Jules from tracking us.”
Henry took her laptop to the kitchen counter and slid onto a stool. Five minutes later he called to Sam. “We’re in.”
The blinking cursor stood out on the blank screen for a moment before a message popped up.
J: I know where you are
Henry started to type something but Sam stilled his hand. “Let me think before we answer.”
She had to remain one step ahead of Jules. His skills were just as good as hers, but maybe together, she and Henry could beat him at his own game. She nodded to Henry to continue typing as she dictated to him.
S: Doesn’t matter. You don’t have the money.
J: I will
S: Don’t be so sure of that
J: You’re playing a dangerous game
S: I’m not afraid
J: You should be
S: If anything happens to me, you’ll never find the money
J: We’ll find it
S: How?
J: Don’t be foolish. We have ways.
S: I think you’re desperate
J: Not as much as you
S: Give it up, J
J: Not as long as your father’s breathing
S: Are you going to kill me?
J: Not me, but someone will in time
S: First you have to find the money
J: That won’t be a problem when you aren’t around to move it
Before Sam could reply, Henry felt a sharp stabbing in his head. The buzz came fast and strong.
Then, with a clicking and a flash, the screen went black.
Chapter Thirteen
Henry’s fingers flew off the keyboard. “What the hell just happened?”
Sam stood next to him her lips forming a tiny smile. “At least it works.”
“What works?”
“I wrote a program to shut down the instant any outside interference was detected while online. It doesn’t leave enough time for any hacker, Jules included, to get information or track our location.”
“You could have told me.” Henry turned to face her.
“I didn’t know if it would work or not. I tried to get the FBI interested in it, but they turned it down. Said they could take care of internet security themselves. They kept my original, said it was a security risk. Damn fools . . . I kept a copy and improved on it. But I never had a chance to test it . . . till now.”
“Let’s hope it does the trick.”
“It did. It not only disconnects from the internet, it shuts down the computer and erases any cookies that might be on there. It also cleans the hard drive of any data that could be used to locate us.” She shrugged and pushed Henry off the stool. “Of course it means I have to reload any information I want to keep.”
“Don’t you think you should wait a while before you turn it back on?”
“We should be fine.” But she closed the lid and yawned again. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll wait until tomorrow to do anything. I need to get a new USB drive anyway.”
“It makes me feel a lot better.” Henry began to dig through the kitchen drawer and came up with two skillets and two pots. “I know I saw some string and a hammer around here somewhere.”
Since Sam stayed out of the kitchen as much as she could, she had no suggestions to offer on where to find the items. “I’ll let you get to it, then. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”
She fell asleep to hammering, followed by clanking of pots and pans and awoke the next morning feeling a renewed confidence that they would solve Mary Margaret Bledsoe’s murder and move on to the next name on her list. She wouldn’t let Jules or the goons in the truck distract her.
Henry was in the kitchen mixing the ingredients for an omelet. “Good thing I went to the store yesterday. The van’s still outside.”
“Don’t they ever sleep?” Sam moved to the window to look down on the street. Sure enough, the truck sat at the curb near the building entrance. “They moved from the parking garage.”
“Yeah, I guess they finally figured out that we weren’t spending the night in the car.”
“Do you have any thoughts on how to get out of here today without them seeing us?” Sam stuck two slices of bread in the toaster. She could handle that much cooking.
“I’m thinking we can call an Uber and get picked up in the back alley. They don’t seem to realize there’s a back exit to this place.”
“But that door was locked last night. It is probably locked during the day too. Plus there might be an alarm if we try to open it.”
“Already checked with Julie at the front desk. The alarm is off during the day while the workmen are here. We should be good to go.”
After they ate, Sam tucked her gun into the built-in safe in the back of her closet. She hesitated before closing the lid, but took a deep breath and slammed it shut. If she hoped to prove to Henry it wasn’t the source of their problem with the van, she’d have to do without it for today.
She stuck a baseball cap on her head to hide part of her hair and face, then they made their way to the rear exit. The Uber waited at the end of the alley.
The driver suggested Pioneer Place as the closest Apple Store, and dropped them off fifteen minutes later. Sam looked at the building in dismay. The store took up a whole block and except for the back wall, three sides were glass from floor to ceiling. Once inside, there would be no place to hide should their friends in
the truck come looking.
The only saving grace was that the store was packed with people.
They entered and strolled the aisles, checking out the display models of the latest Macs.
Henry waited patiently while a kid and his father played on the new MacBook Pro. He compared the specs on the thirteen-inch model and the fifteen-inch model until the father stepped away from the machine, leading his son to a smaller, cheaper model.
Before a kid in ripped jeans and a wrinkled Megadeath T-shirt had the opportunity to elbow him away, Henry stepped up and began manipulating the keyboard. One look from Henry sent the kid scurrying to another display model.
Much faster than his older machine, he fancied the computing power of the laptop. He was almost glad his laptop had disappeared yesterday. It was past time for him to upgrade. After ten minutes he decided this was the model for him. Now he just had to wait for a clerk to be free so he could make the purchase and choose the extras he wanted.
Meanwhile, Sam stayed near the back wall, canvassing the available USB drives. A 64 GB seemed to be the largest. She picked up two of those, but she also needed something with more storage to hold everything on her hard drive. The 2TB external hard drive should do the trick, but then she spotted a 4TB model and decided on that. Better to have too much storage than not enough.
It took about twenty minutes for her to find a free clerk. She paid for the items and stuck them in her purse, keeping an eye out for the black van cruising the street. She spotted nothing close to suspicious as she sauntered over to where Henry stood discussing his purchase with a clerk.
Henry asked questions, then listened with patience while the salesman tried to impress him with his knowledge of bits and bytes. Every so often, Henry interrupted the young man’s spiel to get him back on point.
Sam grew bored listening to the tech talk and when a twenty-something coed squeezed next to her to ogle Henry, she walked over to the table displaying the latest iPhones.