Crown's Law (22 page)

Sam picked up a menu and fumed.

“This is no time to be doing homework, Beck!
I want to know . . .”

Becky said, “Shh!” as she held up a
finger.

He fumed some more, read the menu. The
waitress came to take their order. She had on a short, colorful
skirt and a white peasant blouse that exposed a lot of cleavage.
That cheered Sam up a bit.

Sam gave her an obvious body scan, then said,
“I’ll have sausage and peppers with linguini and a glass of house
red. Lot’s of garlic bread.”

The waitress smiled at him, then looked at
Becky, eyebrow arched. Becky said, without looking up, “I’ll have
the same.” She glanced up at Sam and added with a sheepish smile,
“Make my drink a Sprite.”

He scowled at her. She shrugged and went back
to her writing. After a moment, she put down her pen.

“There,” she exclaimed. “I wanted to make
sure I got those equations down on paper. Now, you can chastise
me.”

Sam had cooled off some, so he simply said,
“Tell me about it.”

She did. He let her finish without
comment.

Then he had his say. “Dammit, Beck! Don’t
ever try and talk me into something like this again! What possessed
you to go into the CEO’s office?”

“Well,” replied Becky, “it was sort of by
accident. I really did want to plant that second bug for you, so I
just wandered down the hall reading door signs like I was looking
for the ladies’ room. In case there were cameras, like you taught
me. Then, I got so nervous that I really had to pee! I hoped the
CEO’s office would have a bathroom, so I just dashed in. Luckily,
it did!”

“So, you went ahead and planted that bug
while that Chase guy was watching you!” exclaimed Sam. “Why, for
Christ’s sake?”

“Calm down, Sam! I planted the bug with my
hand, just like you taught me. Remember, Sam, he was a dirty old
man and his beady little eyes were not looking at my hands!” smiled
Becky.

“Beck! What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying. After all, he
didn’t know I was underage. He thought I was 22 and fair game.”

Sam was embarrassed having this discussion
with Becky. Mostly, though, he was furious at Chase. He considered
paying the guy a visit and pounding his head to mush.

Becky giggled, “I sure feel sorry for the
woman who gets that job. If there is a glass ceiling for women in
that company, she’ll get a good view of it—from her back!”

“Becky!”

“Well, that’s my assessment. But let me get
to a more interesting subject. It’s actually quite mystifying.
These equations I wrote down,” she said as she pointed to the pad
of paper in front of her, “represent Problem 10 on the test. Don’t
flinch, I’ll try and keep it simple.”

“Thanks.”

“The first nine questions were quite simple,
and covered areas of math one might expect from a scientific
testing company. This Number 10 is off the wall. It’s a set of
simultaneous polynomials, but at least one, maybe more, of the
equations is missing. As presented, it’s unsolvable.”

“Becky, I thought you were going to use
English!” said Sam.

“Sorry. It’s hard to simplify this
stuff. In a nutshell, I think it got on the test by accident. But
now here’s the zinger. These equations have nothing to do with
testing. They deal with fluid mechanics, friction in venturis,
stuff like that. What would
Dynology
be doing with math like that? Some of
it is quite clever,” Becky went on.

“What’s fluid mechanics? Oil changes?” asked
Sam with a grin.

“You really don’t mean that, do you?” laughed
Becky.

The waitress arrived with their food and they
ate in silence until she moved away to another table.

Becky continued, “I’ve been searching my
brain to place what those equations are all about. It finally
dawned on me.”

Sam took a sip of his wine and said,
“Something too deep for me to understand, right?”

“No. These equations could represent a jet
flow engine using water—a fluid, at least—as the propellant,”
explained Becky.

“So? Give me an example,” shrugged Sam as he
took a fork-full of food.

“Like an engine for a submarine. A very quiet
submarine.”

Sam took a gulp of his wine as he pondered
Becky’s statement.

“Why would that place be designing submarine
engines?” Sam finally said, more rhetorically than a question to
Becky.

“Exactly,” she replied. “They wouldn’t. The
question is, where did they get these equations?”

“Good question, Beck. We’ll have to kick that
around. Maybe we’ll pick up something on the bugs you planted to
help us figure it out. Which reminds me: Tell me again why you put
yourself in such danger to plant that bug in the CEO’s office? I’m
still not happy about that!”

“I thought you would be pleased with me for
being so innovative! Instead, you’re busting my chops!” said Becky,
her eyes becoming moist.

“Aww, Beck! I’m sorry! It’s all my fault
anyway. I was crazy to let you even go in there,” said Sam, patting
her hand.

“I wanted to do it, Sam! I wanted to help you
out. I like working on your cases with you,” she sniffed.

“I know, but analyzing cases with me is a bit
different than you using your body to distract a dirty old man
while you do slight of hand! That really disturbs me!”

“You have to face it, Sam. Look at my body!
I’m not a little girl in pigtails and a pinafore anymore! I know
you like to think of me as a little, naive child without any
knowledge of sexuality, but remember my history! I was an expert on
dirty old men before you even met me! And my sister was a hooker!”
exclaimed Becky. “I didn’t plan it to be that way in the CEO’s
office. I just took advantage of the situation!”

Sam’s face turned red. He didn’t like
discussing sexual things with Becky. That’s the one area of being a
father to her that he felt very uncomfortable about. She was a
young woman now . . . and he hated to admit it.

“OK, Beck. I said I was sorry. You did real
well. Fantastic, in fact! But don’t think we’ll be doing anything
like this again real soon,” he said after a long pause.

“You still don’t get it, do you, Sam? I like
being part of your world—sharing things with you. You see, it’s so
hard for me to share my world with you. That’s not a put down—there
are only a handful of people in the world who can grasp what goes
on up here.” She pointed to her head. “But we can share your world,
if you teach me, and let me.”

She reached in her purse and got a tissue;
she wiped her eyes, blew her nose. Sam sat there stunned.

After a beat he said, “I guess I’ve failed
pretty miserably at this pseudo-father thing, haven’t I?”

“No you haven’t!” she snapped. “That’s what
you don’t get! I couldn’t have ordered a better father out of a
freakin’ catalog! I can never repay you—and Nana and Grandpa—for
what you’ve done for me! I know you love me—even though you’ve
never said it in words—or you couldn’t have been so kind and caring
these last three years. And I love all of you! I know you spend a
lot of time with me—like surfing, swimming, boating, fun trips—but
I guess I just wanted more. I’m just too needy and selfish, I
guess!”

Sam knew he loved her, but she was right: he
couldn’t remember ever telling her. What an ass!

Becky continued, “I thought by helping you,
it would be a small payback, I guess, but mainly I like feeling a
part of your world. I want to feel like I belong!” She fished in
her purse for another tissue, gave up and used her napkin.

Sam was still speechless, but he got up and
went to her side of the booth, slid in, and put his arm around
her.

“Beck, I’m not good at this, but I apologize
for being such an ass! You certainly belong! You know I don’t wear
my emotions on my sleeve. I’ve kept them buried for many years.
Even though it was by accident that I found you, you’re the most
precious thing that ever came into my life! That’s why I was so
upset with you for taking such a risk. I’d never forgive myself if
I let anything happen to you!”

Becky leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I know, Sam. I’m just being pissy. Maybe
it’s PMS. Oops! I’m not supposed to mention that either, am I?”

Sam laughed. “No! You’re really trying to
finish me off, aren’t you?”

“I know I’m a complex beast. One hundred year
old, non-stop Einstein brain stuffed into a 16-year old body. Rife
with insecurities in a lot of areas. I don’t know how—or why—you’ve
put up with me, but I’m so glad that you have, and I just need you
to know how much it means to me. I shudder to think how my life
would have been if you’d dumped me off on a foster family—like I
expected you to do!”

“Who knows? Maybe you’d have been better off.
You might have gotten lucky—had a nice father and mother—maybe some
siblings.”

“You don’t believe that, and neither do I.
Come on, let’s finish eating and go home. I’ve had my say.”

“Good idea, kiddo. I’ll try and do better
from now on.”

***

After lunch, Becky headed home to Capistrano
Beach and Sam took the van to Santa Ana and parked it in the locked
garage. He went to the office and checked the equipment in the tech
room to make sure it was receiving and recording information from
the two bugs Becky had placed. She had gone to the ladies’ room and
retrieved the third bug from her bra and given it to Sam before
they left the restaurant. He locked it away in its proper place,
retrieved his Camaro, and headed for the beach. He still had a
queasy feeling about this whole thing. And he still had to find
Carole Winston. She was part of this puzzle somehow.

Saturday, May 26, 2001

Capistrano Beach, CA

The Crowns had returned from their trip
to Ensenada on Friday night, so the entire family was together for
Saturday night dinner. No one felt like cooking, so Becky
volunteered to run over to
Sonny’s
and pick up a couple of large pizzas. Helena whipped up a
green salad and they all sat on the deck and ate, listening to the
ever-present sound of the breakers. Sam had Becky explain her view
of what the mysterious equations meant.

John got his pipe going after eating three
slices of pizza, then sipped his smooth, Spanish red wine while he
pondered what Becky had told him. He did not question Becky’s
assessment of the equations.

Finally, John said, “The U.S. and
Russia have been experimenting with ways to make subs quieter since
the height of the cold war. I’ve heard of attempts to develop an
engine such as Becky described. I would say whoever produced those
equations was under contract to some government. Private companies
don’t build silent subs for their own account. From what you’ve
told me, that
Dynology
outfit
wouldn’t be the right kind of company to be designing engines for
anybody’s navy, so the question is: who did they steal them
from?”

He puffed on his pipe, but it had gone out.
He began the process of relighting it.

Becky took the opportunity to say, “You mean
they stole this design from some company under contract to some
government’s navy? Like the U.S. or Russia?”

“Or China. Or Iran. Lots of possible players.
The most obvious would be the good old U. S. of A.,” John replied.
“Could you tell how good that design was, Becky?”

“Yes, sir. I spent all afternoon trying to
reconstruct the missing equations and I think I was successful. At
least, I came up with something that is consistent. Whoever
designed this engine is no dummy. He—or she, of course—did some
clever things with ramjet techniques and step-down venturis. The
mathematics were expressed as polynomials, which leads me to
believe that they were doing computer simulations to fine-tune the
various variables,” explained Becky. She took a sip of her Coke and
waited.

Sam finally spoke. “All I understood of that
was that it’s a good design done by someone smart. Can you tell
from the math whether it was done by an American say, or a
Russian?”

“Good question. Mathematics is, more or less,
a universal language, but different Greek letters are sometimes
preferred by different countries to express certain constants and
physical variables. I would say that this was done by an American.
Plus, the preference for analytic integration to speed up
simulation is strictly an American invention going back to the
early sixties,” replied Becky. “That doesn’t mean others couldn’t
be involved. It’s just an educated guess.”

“Good enough for me,” laughed Sam. He
sipped his wine. “Looks like
Dynology
could be involved in some industrial
espionage, eh, Dad?”

“If that’s true,” mused John, “it’s more than
‘industrial,’ since the contractor doing the work would be under
contract to the U.S. government. That makes it treason. Very
serious stuff.”

Sam said, “Maybe that’s why the FBI took over
the Jackson murder case. Maybe it ties in with the whole espionage
theory somehow. And Jackson was involved in some undercover
maneuver. I wonder if we should pass this tidbit along to the
FBI.”

Becky piped up, “Maybe we should listen to
the tapes from those bugs first. It might strengthen our
theory.”

“We can never mention those bugs to anyone,
Beck. Especially not the FBI. Did I fail to tell you how illegal
those bugs are?” cautioned Sam. “But that’s a good idea—as long as
we only use the info to support your theory. Tuesday—Monday’s a
holiday and I’m staying down here—I’ll see what’s been picked up.
If our espionage theory is confirmed, Becky and I can go to the FBI
with those equations and let the FBI draw their own conclusions.
There’s nothing illegal about her taking that test—except the age
thing, which we won’t mention. They already know more than we do,
or they wouldn’t have taken the Jackson homicide away from the
locals.”