Thirst No. 3 (15 page)

“That’s the biggest crock of BS I ever heard. You and your boyfriend flew all the way out to Missouri to talk to me about your evil company even before I knew its name. Now you’re trying to convince yourself everything is fine at work and your lover is going to magically come walking back through your door. It’s time you woke up and faced reality. Jeff knew you guys were in danger when he was sitting in my living room. That’s why he was there. And he’s not playing a mind game with you today by not calling. He knows you’d be worried sick if he didn’t check in. But he can’t call you, Lisa. He’s no longer with us. But IIC still is. They’re hunting us both, and I have a feeling they won’t let up until either we get rid of them or they get rid of us.” I pause. “Are you listening?”

She wipes away a single tear. “Yes.”

“Will you do what I say and lie low until we figure this out?”

“Why can’t I help you? No, don’t shake your head, Alisa. You listen. If what you say is true, they’ve murdered the two men I love most in my life. I can’t just sit around forever, waiting for you to call.”

“I understand. I would feel the same way. Let’s make a deal. Give me a few days, and when I feel things have cooled down, I’ll come get you.”

“Then we can work as partners?”

I admire her grit. “Sure,” I say.

•   •   •

I drive as far as Barstow, a godforsaken town in the middle of the desert. There I register Lisa in a Motel 6—under the name Lacey Jones, like they bother to check—and give her ten thousand in cash to keep her afloat. Lisa is reluctant to hand over her laptop, but I’m anxious to scan her notes on IIC. After all, she’s been suspicious of her firm since she went to work for them. I might see something she’s missing. In the end, she lets me take it.

I take her picture before I leave, and I e-mail a digital copy of it to a person in LA who’s an expert at making fake IDs.

I drive back to Malibu and park not far from the IIC building. From there I hike into the hills that overlook the firm. By now the sun is near the horizon, but I see Ms. Cynthia Brutran is still hard at work in her office. I can see her through the reflective glass. Okay, I think, her building is her fortress, she made that point clear. I probably would have been shot down if I had tried to kill her this afternoon. But she cannot remain inside forever, and when she leaves . . .

Unfortunately, the woman appears to be a workaholic. She’s on the phone, she types and reads on her computer, she calls in a second shift of secretaries and dictates letters. Midnight comes and goes, and I continue to sit nestled in the nearby hills while she shows no sign of fatigue.

I grow impatient. I consider storming the building.

Yet I hesitate. I have my reasons. . . .

With my telescopic vision, I can see Ms. Brutran’s computer screens, and by shifting my place in the hills, I see another room where four security guards are devoting themselves full-time to three dozen screens that continue to pan the area around the building. The guards are all armed.

I can’t hear them talking through the glass. Worse, I can’t hear Brutran when she’s on the phone. I’m familiar with most forms of soundproofing, but this is something remarkable. The only explanation is that the glass isn’t just double-plated. Somehow they’ve managed to create a vacuum between the plates. Since sound needs a medium through which to propagate—such as air—these IIC people have created essentially a “dead zone” for any noise.

Why would they go to such extremes? For me? They just met me, and they didn’t know I was coming to their office. Also, I’m not sure they know what I am. The number of guards and cameras and the vacuum windows are all very odd.

It’s like they have armed themselves against another foe.

It makes me wonder if Ms. Brutran knows ancient Egyptian.

While waiting, I scan Lisa’s laptop. It is not very helpful. The information she collected while working at IIC is mostly of a paranoid nature. When she started at the firm, she often wrote notes about how her boss gave her busywork that had nothing to do with her academic background. True, she was given the “reams of papers filled with numbers” that she told me about, and was ordered to search for patterns. But no patterns existed.

Her starting pay was ridiculously high, in the low six figures, but the firm appears to have kept her around in case of some emergency that never appeared. However, her boredom led her to investigate areas that IIC’s upper management probably didn’t appreciate. She befriended a woman named Michelle Ranker, who worked in accounting. It was Michelle who first told her about “the kids” and how she made sure they received their checks every month. Yet Michelle didn’t speak directly about the Array.

I know of Michelle, of course. Marko killed her.

It was actually Lisa’s ex, Randy Clifford, who gave Lisa and Jeff the most insight into IIC. I’m not surprised, since Lisa raved what a brilliant hacker he was. A pity he didn’t cover his tracks better. His quick peek into IIC’s files cost him his life, and now his death was part of a much larger pattern, now that Michelle and Jeff were also out of the picture.

What’s the pattern?

IIC kills without hesitation—one could say they do so casually. By nature, I’m a predator. I do likewise, but nowadays I only hurt those who hurt others. IIC clearly craves money and power, that’s obvious, yet I have no idea what their ultimate motive is.

Brutran can tell me. If she’d just go home, I could kidnap her and torture her at my leisure. I’m determined to make her talk after the way she taunted me this afternoon.

To my amazement, she doesn’t leave her office all night.

The woman has takeout delivered to her office, and she stops for a few breaks to walk about the building and chat with the security guards and other hardworking employees who appear to share her work ethic. But she doesn’t go outside, not even to catch a breath of fresh air.

Does she know I’m watching and waiting?

I move deeper into the hills as the sun rises.

I’m tired of waiting, but I’m not physically tired. I like an hour of sleep a day, but I can go a month without resting. I have a liter of Fiji water on hand; it keeps me from getting dehydrated. I prefer blood to water, naturally, but unlike the fictional fang figures that haunt so many modern novels, I no longer require it to live.

I still have the Glock that I took from the locker near LAX. I didn’t take the gun into Ms. Brutran’s office the first time. I was worried I might trip an alarm. But I won’t confront her again without being armed. Even if she’s surrounded by a platoon of guards, if need be I can grab her and use her as a shield. I assume her home will have security as well; that is, if she ever goes home.

I don’t waste time as I wait for Brutran to leave. I’m on the phone making arrangements for Shanti’s security. It takes work. I have to make sure each security guard assigned to her has a fake FBI identity that can be backed up by a local FBI agent. My people in the FBI have to labor overtime to help with the setup. But by the time the sun comes up, Shanti has at least four guards on her at all times.

That will be enough to discourage any human hit man. However, if IIC sends a fellow like the guy that tried to kill me, then no amount of guards will help. Shanti will die, probably along with her uncle.

I consider dispatching guards to watch over Lisa but decide she’ll be safer relying on her invisibility. IIC has so much money, I fear they might have sources in the FBI like I do. The possibility makes me consider moving Shanti to another state. Yet I sense I can only push her uncle so far. Guards outside the door are one thing. But having to move . . . I don’t think he’ll go for it.

While I wait, I reflect on the last times I saw Teri and Matt. They each came to my house separately, which was good in a way. They were more open being alone with me.

Teri had located half the books I asked her to find, and she felt she’d have the rest by the end of the week. I reassured her she was doing a good job, but I could tell she still felt guilty about the salary I was paying her. She didn’t feel she was doing enough to earn it.

“So far I’m just being a gofer,” she said. “Anyone could do that.”

“Don’t think that way. Before you finish working with me, you will have helped in ways you can’t imagine.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Believe it now. The way I work, I ramp up the further I get into a piece. By the time I finish this book, I’ll be working
day and night, and you’ll be begging me for a break.”

We talked in my kitchen, drinking peppermint tea with raw honey. I was only beginning to realize how strict Teri was with her diet. She seldom drank and never took drugs. The same could not be said for her boyfriend. She confided that Matt liked to smoke hashish soaked in opium.

“He only does it occasionally, so I don’t worry,” she hastily added.

“That’s interesting. Did you know that was the drug of choice for the American soldiers who served in Vietnam?”

“No.”

“Where does he buy it?”

“I don’t ask and I don’t want to know. But if Matt wants something bad enough, he gets it. You should see his house. He has an amazing collection of rugs from all over the world. They’re a hobby of his.”

“An unusual hobby for a budding rock star.”

Teri groaned at my mention of his music.

“He’s still acting like a goat when it comes to your offer to help him put together a record. He can be stubborn, and this is definitely one of those times. He feels like he has to make it on his own or it doesn’t count.”

“To who?”

“I asked him the same thing. Who is he trying to impress? It can’t be me, because he’s just annoying me with his male ego. I told him as much, but he didn’t respond. That’s another bad
habit of his. He’s hard to argue with. He clams up and says nothing. I suspect the only way we’re going to get him to go to New York or LA is if he decides to go on his own. And chances are he won’t tell us if he goes. He’ll just vanish one day. That’s the way he is.”

“Does he disappear often?”

“Not too often, not now. But before he got these gigs, he could take off for a week without warning. And before you ask, no, I don’t think he’s seeing someone else.”

“I’m glad you have that faith in him.”

“It’s not his style to cheat. He despises hypocrites.”

“Do his quirks frustrate you?”

She sighed. “Yeah. But I try to stay focused on my own goals.”

“What’s your main goal now? To get into medical school?”

Teri hesitated. “That’s on my list, but it’s not at the top.”

“You were serious the other day when you said you wanted to compete in the Olympics.”

“Yes.” She paused. “You said you’ve seen me run before.”

“I’ve seen two of your races. When Truman competed against Chapel Hill and Ohio State. You ran the 5K against Chapel and the fifteen-hundred-meter against Ohio. You won both races—I was impressed.”

“Thanks. I don’t know how much you know about track. The season’s almost over, and the NCAA finals are about to start. The woman I beat at Ohio, Frances McCormick, won
the NCAA championship last year in the metric mile. That’s another name for the fifteen-hundred-meter race.”

“Wasn’t Frances on the U.S. Olympic team four years ago?”

“Wow. You have an amazing memory.”

“I told you, I remember everything. But you’re not just interested in competing in the Olympics. You want to win a gold medal.”

She blushed. “It’s a dream, I know, a crazy dream. I’m not in the same league as the Africans. No one is. The trials are only two weeks after the NCAA finals. I’ve been training like mad. I spend more time at the track than I do in class or with Matt.”

“Is he supportive?”

“He acts a hundred percent supportive. But I think he resents the time commitment. And now that I’m working for you, I’ll probably see him even less.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this dream the other day?”

“The day we met, you saw Matt play, and I’d be the first person to admit his talent is a lot more interesting than my ability to run around a track.”

“Don’t diminish your gift. I love track and field. There’s no sport more primal than a race. At the dawn of civilization, I’m sure cavemen used to boast to one another, ‘I bet I can run faster than you.’ Or, ‘I know I can run farther than you.’ You laugh, but it’s true. The first sport on earth was racing. That’s why the Olympics never get old. And that’s why I admire your desire to compete at the highest level.”

“Thank you. It means a lot to me to have your support.”

“You mean my money.”

“No! I mean—”

“I know what you mean, Teri. Relax, I was just teasing.”

“Well, frankly, your money helps. If I went back home, I’d be forced to work full-time and I wouldn’t be able to train as much. But if I can stay here, when classes get out I’ll have all the time I need to work on the track.”

“You said before your coach wants you to train on the track. But you don’t like it.”

“Coach Tranton insists on the interval training. But he’s a genius when it comes to developing runners. It’s one of the reasons I decided on Truman. It’s a small college, but every year we compete for the NCAA championship. He’s an expert on the mile. My time keeps dropping. It’s all because of him.”

“I envy you, Teri. You know exactly what you want. Now all you have to do is go get it.”

She laughed. “And beat out a hundred other women who will be competing for the three spots on the Olympic team.”

“My intuition is almost as good as my memory. I have a sneaking suspicion you’re going to make it.”

That made her smile. Teri has such a lovely smile.

But I don’t know why I told her that.

It wasn’t like I was going to give her a pint of my blood.

No way. It was out of the question.

However, I did want her to make the team. . . .

The next day Matt stopped by. He used the excuse that he was looking for Teri, but we both knew how feeble it was. He wanted to see me, and of course I wanted to see him. He’s such a pleasure to look at. He came from the gym, dressed in shorts, Nikes, and a sleeveless sweatshirt. He smelled of sweat, but to me it was a great smell. I offered him a bottle of beer and he took three. He said he was thirsty after his workout.