Authors: Don Bruns
“Hello. This is Jason Riley. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Riley,” sounded like a young guy. If he was part of the problem, I was just digging us in deeper. If he was a good guy, then we were still in a lot of trouble. “This is Skip Moore and I need to tell you a story you are not going to believe.”
“I’ve heard stories like that before. Someday I’ll write a book. Go ahead, Mr. Moore. Tell me your story.”
I did. Passionately laying out a half-brained plan that had only been hatched in the last two or three hours. But it flowed. Better than when I talked to James. And I saw my best friend, my roommate, nodding enthusiastically as he picked up the unopened envelope on the table.
“Mr. Riley, stop any access to your computer system. Don’t let anyone from Synco Systems have access to your system.” James tore open the side of the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper.
There was a dead silence on the other end of the line.
“Mr. Riley?”
“Mr. Moore, do you seriously think that we pass out computer codes to every vendor that we do business with?”
“I hope not.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I can tell you, there’s no one who has access to any codes. I’m not sure where you got your information, but whatever you’ve heard regarding that is nonsense.”
“Mr. Riley, have you ever heard of Chi Mak? Stole missile secrets from the government? How about the DOD employee that kept defense secrets on his home computer?”
“That was something that—”
“Oh, and finally, do you remember how many laptop computers went missing at the Rocky Flats project outside of Denver? The place where they make the bombs? I think it was four or five computers. So, Mr. Riley, don’t tell me that the United States government doesn’t just give away secrets on a regular basis. I’d say it happens a lot.”
“Mr. Moore, give me your phone number and I’ll have someone get back to you.”
I knew damned well he already had my phone number. By now he probably knew that I’d graduated from Samuel and Davidson college, that I worked for Jaystone Security, and that Em and I were dating. I was easy to track. They were all spies, every one of them.
“Mr. Moore?”
James was waving the paper in my face.
“Look, Riley, I can’t stress to you enough how serious I am. I am positive that the codes for your computers are going to be used to steal defense secrets. If you don’t take that warning seriously, we’re all going to be in some deep trouble.”
“Thank you, Mr. Moore. The department appreciates your concern. Now, if you’ll give me your phone number—”
James waved the paper in front of my face.
I said a silent prayer, and flipped the phone closed. If Riley didn’t take me seriously, we were all in a world of hurt. If he did, well, I’d been known to be wrong before.
“It’s Em.” He handed me the paper.
I saw her signature at the bottom of the sheet. My eyes drifted to the top.
Mr. Moore,
I knew that wasn’t the salutation I’d expect from her.
Your girlfriend is in our custody for the moment. We expect you to deliver the video/computer card to the following address or she will be killed. Don’t take this to the authorities. Don’t call anyone for help. You’ll hear from us by phone.
The letter was signed by Em.
“I am so sorry, pard. Whatever we need to do, I’m here.”
“Jesus, James, say a prayer.” My phone rang and I grabbed it.
“Mr. Moore?”
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Well now, Mr. Moore,” I was getting very tired of the Mr. Moore crap, “with that attitude I can’t guarantee her safety for much longer.” I listened carefully to the muffled voice, trying to place it. It sounded as if someone was talking through a sweat sock.
“I’m sorry. How can I get her back?” James sat in the kitchen chair straining to hear every word from the other end of the line.
“Sandy Conroy says that you have to bring the video card.”
“Where? When?”
“Thirteen twenty-five Waterview Lane.” When I finally caught my breath, I thought it out. The locked up building. The two-story cement-block structure that had shown up on the GPS tracking device. They wanted me to deliver the card to that address. The biggest problem was, I didn’t have that card. Someone had taken it. And Em’s life was on the line. I’d been in some tough situations, but this one was the worst.
“When do you want it?”
“Now.”
“Now?”
“Be here in one hour, Mr. Moore. And bring Mr. Lessor with you. I’d feel better knowing where the two of you are at the same time.”
“We’ll be there.”
“Mr. Moore, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Bring the white truck.”
“Okay.”
“Not the brown one.” And he was gone.
James was leaning in, picking up the conversation. “Didn’t seem to appreciate the UPS truck diversion, did he?”
“Nope. What are we going to do, James?”
“J.J. is home.” He’d walked to the door and looked outside.
“I don’t care about J.J. We’ve got to get that card.”
“Listen, amigo. You may not agree with this, but Jim Jobs turns out to be a pretty good tech guy. Hell, he worked with nuclear bombs. Look how he took charge of your project.”
I didn’t need to be reminded.
“If we can lay this out for him, maybe he can help us.”
“Jim Jobs? Have you lost your mind?” He was already walking down to J.J.’s door.
“Closed the place down, boys. Feng comes out and says ‘everybody go home.’ And then he and the Gestapo stood there by the front door and checked everyone before we left.”
“And the cops?”
“Oh, they got all of the names and contact information.” J.J. sat on the well-worn green cloth couch, his wrinkled T-shirt proudly announcing Age and Treachery Will Win Out Every Time Over Youth and Skill. I hoped that wasn’t true.
“Guys, we don’t have time to sit here and discuss this. Em is in serious trouble.”
“Em?” J.J. gave me a puzzled look.
I laid it out as fast as I could, and it still took me over four minutes.
“You don’t have this card, correct?” He smiled and I could see his tongue through the missing front teeth.
“No. And if I don’t produce this card, this blue—”
J.J. scratched himself, let out a long breath and stood up. He turned the corner at the hallway, a mirror opposite of our apartment, and disappeared from view.
“James, Em is in serious trouble and we’re dealing with a—”
“Here you go.” J.J. had the identical card between his thumb and index finger. “It’s blank, with a lot of static on it. Now, if you give this to them, it’s probably enough. If they want to check it out to see if it’s the genuine card from the smoke detector,” he glanced at me, then held me with his eyes, “that one I told you was going to be trouble. Do you remember?”
I nodded.
“Well, it will have static. You tell them that it was run through a magnetic field. You got on an airplane or went through a metal detector somewhere.”
“That erases the card?”
“No. But chances are these guys don’t know that. We haven’t got time to develop much of a plan at all. Go with what you’ve got.”
I couldn’t believe this guy actually had a plan at all. “We’ll use it. Thanks so much, man.”
“You mentioned, briefly, that you had other detection equipment?”
“Well,” James started to do his shuffle, possibly because a spring from his chair seemed exposed and was possibly painful. “We used a GPS unit and something called The Sound Max. It’s a—”
“Hey, I know The Sound Max.”
I remember rolling my eyes at James. “I doubt that you—”
“Long wand, picks up conversations from almost anywhere.”
Damn.
“This building, it’s got two stories?”
“Yeah.”
“Get there early.”
Early was now.
“Set that puppy up on the roof and record the entire transaction.”
“Thanks, man.”
“It’s the best I can do on short notice.” He picked up a toothpick from the end table by the couch and started working in his mouth. James and I bolted for the door, and sixty seconds later we were on the road.
“For a ten-minute talk, it’s not a bad plan, Pancho.”
I had to admit it.
“Damn Sandy Conroy.”
“James, it’s not Conroy.”
“Guy on the phone said it was.” James ground the brakes at the stoplight, looking right and left, then driving through the red.
“Doesn’t make any difference. Chen is the only one who knows about the card.”
“How do you figure?”
“We were in the building the night Sandy Conroy asked Carol about us spying on him. She didn’t volunteer the information about the smoke detector, did she?”
“No. It never came up.”
“But she thought Chen was her partner. Chen was meeting with her at the Tiny Tots Academy. She told him about it. Chen knew about the card.”
“Why didn’t she give it to him. It pretty much incriminated Sandy Conroy.”
“I would guess, just a guess, that she kept the card as a bargaining tool. She had evidence on Sandy with the card. Chen may not know what’s on it, but he knows it has some evidence of the codes.”
“So you’re pretty sure Chen has Em?”
It rang in my ears. Chen has Em. Chen has Em. Chen has Em. “I’d bet on it. And he’s blaming it on Sandy Conroy, just in case we tell anyone.”
The brakes ground as he stopped at a light. It flashed green and James tromped on the gas as the truck eased ahead, slowly.
“James, if anything happens to Em, I will never, ever forgive myself.”
“I won’t forgive myself, amigo. But you know what? We’re going to get her back. I promise you.”
We were both quiet for sixty seconds. Then I could see the building, two blocks away, the gaudy graffiti splashed all over the outside. “I’d give my life for her, James.”
“Hey, you won’t have to.”
“I would. I really would. I just know that.” At that moment there was no question. If I had to die to save her, I’d do it. I just didn’t know it would come to that.
“Where do we park the truck?” James wheeled into the small parking area. I watched as the black and red whirls and swirls blended and spread out on the white stucco surface of the building. The artist had almost effected motion in his spray-painted tableau.
“Pull around back.”
You could ask James just about anything, but don’t ask him to back up. Without a rearview mirror—using only side mirrors—he was a basket case. But pulling around back was within his capabilities.
And there it was. As if by magic, a metal ladder ran to the roof of the second floor, bolted to the graffitied surface of the structure.
“You son of a gun. I’ve been around you all my life, Kemo Sabe, and I’ve never seen you get so lucky.”
I jumped from the truck and jogged to the rear, opened the sliding door and pulled out The Sound Max.
I checked my cell phone. We had about twenty minutes before I had to turn over J.J.’s bogus card. Pulling the box with
the wand and recording unit out, I walked to the ladder, and, cradling the equipment in one arm, I started the climb. Two stories. Not a big deal.
“You’ll be all right, compadre,” James yelled up after me. He knew I was somewhat apprehensive when it came to heights.
Another step, and don’t look down. And another, and another. You can make fun, laugh if you will, but once anyone steps off ground zero, things get a little iffy. By the time I passed story one, I was breathing hard. Partly from the exercise, partly from the fear. I finally reached the top, looking down at James in the truck and wanting to throw up.
Pulling myself up on the roof, I refrained from looking down again. I dropped the bundle, then set the folding tripod in place. Lowering it to almost surface level, I mounted the wand onto the tripod. “James, can you see the wand?” I never looked down. Just shouted out loud.
“I see nothing, pardner.”
Plug in the wire, to the wand, then to the recorder. That should do it. The battery pack still showed two hours of life. If anything was said in the parking lot, we should be able to capture it. The word capture gave me a chill.
“Get down here, pal. They may be coming any minute.”
“Without an armload of spy ware, the descent was considerably easier. And, I was headed for the ground, where I belonged.
“Quick, let’s drive around front.”
James shifted into drive and pulled around front, parking next to the door with the rusty padlock.
“Number one thing is to get her back. That’s all. That thing on the roof, it’s not the most important thing here, James.”
“Settle down, pard. Courage.”
“I don’t feel so courageous. I just want her back.”
“We’re the only ones who can do it. Cops aren’t any help.”
The bitterness was in his voice. “You know, whatever we say down here, right now, will be on the recording up there.”
“Yeah.”
So we both shut up for five minutes. The occasional car drove by, a couple of box trucks similar to ours. Even a police car cruised by. Nobody gave us a glance. The workingman’s vehicle, a used Chevy box truck. It was like walking into a business with a tie on and a clipboard in your hand. I’d heard that you could go just about anywhere with a clipboard. You looked official and nobody would question you. And I agreed with James that you could drive a box truck just about anywhere as well. It just seemed to fit.
Three blocks away a gray Honda turned the corner. “Heads up, amigo.”
“We’ve got to get her back, James.”
“It’s the Lord’s will. I mean it.”
The car pulled up and the driver’s door opened. An Asian man stepped out. Dark hair, good build, square jaw, and a sharp crease in his trousers. Professionally ironed, I would guess.
“Mr. Moore, I don’t believe we’ve met.” He didn’t offer his hand. “Do you have the card?”
I looked down at his feet. The black shoes were scuffed. “I have the card, Mr. Chen. Where’s Emily?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“I’m going to take you to her. Let me see the card.” The Sound Max was up there picking it all up. I needed to make sure there was no mistake as to what was going on. “Once I give you this card, you’ll release Emily?”