Virtuality

by H. L. Wegley

  He sucked in a lungful of air, blew it back out, then breathed hard, his nostrils flaring with each breath as his gaze bored into the raw, red flesh.

  Blood flowed from the deepest part of the abrasion. It was Vince’s blood. Blood that he had shed for her, trying to save her from the kidnappers.

  Jess looked up when she sensed Vince’s eyes focused on her face.

  “I wouldn’t have done this for anyone but you, Jess. But I could say that about a half-dozen things I’ve done in the past twenty-four hours.”

  Jess wiped her cheeks and picked up the iodine solution. “If you’ve got any other nice things to say to me, say them now, because this might draw a few words from the other end of your vocabulary.”

  “Jess, I write for the CBA, so I don’t use—”

  Jess doused the wound with iodine.

  That pulled one word from Vince that was definitely not CBA-compliant.

  “This time will be a lot easier.”

  Vince sat, breathing hard, clenching and unclenching his right hand. “You mean, there has to be a next time?”

  He hadn’t noticed. She had already poured the rest of the small bottle onto his hand.

  “See?” She lifted Vince’s injured hand and kissed it well above the injury and the iodine.

  Vince cupped her cheek and nudged her head up. A crooked smile tweaked one side of his mouth. “There’s no abrasion there, Jess.” He glanced down at the spot she had kissed. “But, a while ago, it was covered with pigeon poop.”

  Why didn’t he—how could he—

  He grinned the mischievous grin of twelve-year-old Vince.

  She picked up the scissors and reached for his ear. “This just ain’t your starry, starry night, Vincent.”

  In an instant, they were two pre-teens with fun and excitement filling their present and a future filled with each other.

  She lowered the scissors.

  Vince cupped her cheek again. “This is the way it used to be. Remember?”

  He had repeated her words. And it was the second time they had found the magic from the best days of Jessica Jamison’s life. Once this present danger passed, maybe she wouldn’t have to look for the magic. Maybe the old normal would become the new normal. Maybe …

  Jess finished dressing Vince’s wound, using half the tube of Polysporin and most of the gauze and tape, ensuring that the next time she dressed the wound, there would be little or no pain.

  Vince made the phone call and twenty minutes later, and with no more visits from the stooges, Vince and Jess climbed into the back of a green and white cab.

  “Fairwood, please. Highway 18 is the shortest route,” Vince said.

  The cabbie tapped on his GPS for a few seconds. “Fairwood it is.”

  Jess sat as close to Vince as her seatbelt allowed. She hooked his arm and waited for him to speak.

  “I'm not sure what Patrick plans to do with Paul's breakthrough technology but, evidently, he thinks he can become the next Bill Gates.” Vince took her hand. “Have you got any idea what application of Paul’s technology is worth that kind of money?”

  “I already told you that the algorithms I coded for Paul were for lossless compression and decompression of digitized nerve impulse data. Does that give you some ideas?”

  “Are we talking about the next generation of video games, Jess?”

  “I think it goes far beyond what video games do. There's a sociologist at the University, Dr. Scoggins. Paul met with him twice that I know of in the past two months. This guy studies technology’s impacts on American society. For several years, he's focused on video games and virtual reality.”

  “Are you suggesting that we go meet with this stuffed shirt?”

  “Come on, Vince. We both have master’s degrees. Just because somebody gets a PhD doesn't mean they’re pompous. Besides, we can ask Scoggins what he told Paul. Maybe it will tell us more about the danger Paul mentioned.”

  “I think we've seen the danger, Jess. More than enough of it.”

  “Maybe. But Paul couldn't have known about the three stooges. But he might have realized the kind of potential business partners his technology would attract when it tempted people with obscene amounts of money.”

  “Sounds like you know more about this than you’ve been letting on.”

  “Nothing in between, Vince. Remember? I've told you all I know. When I finished coding the algorithms and helped integrate them into the other software, my job was done. I didn't see Paul again until he called and told me he was losing his battle with cancer. He wanted me to persuade you to come home. I did. And I put you in a lot of danger. You know the rest of the story.”

  “Yeah. As far as the story has gone.” He paused and squeezed her hand. “I think you and I need to meet with this Professor Scoggins, tell him what we know, and see if he can shed some light on what kind of deal Patrick might be brokering with LACO and its nefarious partners. Maybe then we'll know why we have people acting like mafia thugs trying to kill us.”

  “Vince, if we slip up, even once, these people will kill us. Are you sure you wouldn't rather take me to Alaska, marry me, and live off the grid in a little cabin for the rest of our lives?”

  Vince lowered his voice. “Are you trying to tempt me? You've never done that before.”

  “You've got a bad memory. There was one time …” She whispered the words softly and leaned closer to Vince. “But, you know, you would get a lot more than just temptation with the Alaska deal.”

  She had tried to tempt Vince once, seven years ago. It happened when Vince started slowly withdrawing from her. Women with Jess’s INTJ personality type don’t make friends easily. And she feared losing the only person she felt close to. The only one she could confide in, her very best friend. But, for Jess, best friend had become much more.

  The events of that evening came storming back into her mind and heart. It was the night of the National Honor Society dinner and dance. Vince and Jess were both members, and he had asked her to go with him.

  She wanted it to be a real date, not just two buddies attending together. She even bought a little black dress and carefully applied makeup, which she seldom wore. And Jess had her hair done.

  When she stood in front of the mirror in her room, Jess hardly recognized herself. She had become what Mr. van Gordon had called her, a beautiful princess with a warrior inside. Surely, Vince would notice how she looked.

  Vince picked her up but, though his eyes said he noticed a difference, he never commented on her appearance or her clothes. They attended the dinner, but he made an excuse to skip the dance and they left early. He took her straight home. Didn't even walk Jess to her door. He just left … and broke her heart. And on that starry, starry night, the insults started. van Gordon became van Gogh and Jess made sure Vince got an earful.

  But Vince had cut off a lot more than an ear. He had cut off his best friend and ripped out her heart in the process.

  “… I would, Jess.”

  Would what? What had Vince said while she was dredging up the past? The last three words sounded like he might take her up on the Alaskan adventure.

  She tried her best to forget the past and to give Vince a smile. “Before we do anything rash, we probably should solve the mystery of the mill site.”

  Idiot!

  Why had she changed the subject? She might have gotten some of her questions about Vince answered.

  He released her hand. “Questions like what is Patrick really building in the lab and who's trying to kill us to get it?”

  According to the clock on the dashboard of the taxi, it was nearly three o'clock in the morning when they turned off Petrovitsky Road and rolled into Fairwood.

  Vince had nodded off about fifteen minutes earlier and his head now leaned against hers.

  “Vince, we’re almost home.” Home. She wished they shared a home, shared their lives. The two kisses they shared had revived old memories and old dreams. Did Vince share her dreams? More importantly, would they liv
e long enough to realize those dreams.

  Vince raised his head. “Nice pillow. Maybe I can borrow it again sometime.”

  “That depends on what questions you ask … and what answers I give.”

  “I see.” Vince looked down into her eyes then sighed and looked ahead down Fairwood Boulevard. “We need a vehicle. Paul's pickup is in the garage. It's an older model. Looks like he used it for house and yard projects. With nearly four thousand square-feet of house and a yard full of bushes, trees, and grass, it probably got a lot of use. I think we should give it some more use tonight.”

  “But these guys know you’re staying at Paul's house. They might be watching it.”

  “Yeah. I thought about that too. Driver, take the boulevard to 140th and go south into Kent.”

  “But they could be watching my apartment too?”

  “We can find another place to spend the night. But won't you need clothes and such from your apartment?”

  “Yes. And I can probably sneak into my apartment through the back entrance and get what I need.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Jess sat beside Vince in the back of the taxi with a duffel bag by her feet. She had carefully tucked some clothes and essentials inside, essentials like her .38 Special.

  Vince instructed the driver to let them off where the Fairwood Golf Course crossed the boulevard, by the fifteenth green. They would cross the green and enter the adjacent greenbelt. They could sneak into the back yard of Paul's house by following the creek through the greenbelt, then get into the house through the side garage door. If they were careful, no one watching from the front of the house could see them until they pulled out of the garage in the truck. That would be the dicey part of their plan.

  Vince curled an arm her around her shoulders. Maybe we can get a motel room in the valley for tonight.”

  “Don't you mean two motel rooms?”

  “Jess, we just spent the better part of a night together.”

  “It was more like the worst part of a night. And we didn't sleep together.”

  “We came pretty doggone close at the falls. The big sleep.”

  “Don’t remind me. But I've got a better idea.”

  “Better than sleeping together?”

  “Uh, Vince, that would require those questions and the right answers … and then a little ceremony.” Vince had no idea how tempting he was as her heart reopened seriously to the idea of them. But she wasn't going to tell him. Not yet.

  “I was just testing the waters. Checking you out.”

  “Checking me out? You've already done that … at Paul's house and on the rocks at Choss Master. If you found what you were looking for, you’ll get around to telling me, eventually. Though Vince van Gordon is a bit slow.”

  “I'm not slow. I was the second fastest guy on the football team in high school.”

  “That's right. Body by Bowflex, brain by Babys”R”Us. Like I said, slow.”

  “Jess, when are you—”

  “Don't you want to hear my idea?”

  “Please. If it will stop the insults.”

  “My grandparents own a cabin by Lake Retreat. They let me use it when I'm studying for finals or just want to get away for a while. It has electricity and even Internet access.”

  “Sounds like a good place to hide out while we come up with a plan to turn the three stooges into the three jailbirds.” Vince’s arm gave her an assuring squeeze.

  Jess nodded. “It is a good place. As long as we make sure they don't follow us there.”

  Vince’s free hand went to his chin, massaging it as if it were Aladdin’s lamp. “And that could prove tricky since we’ve got to back Paul’s truck out of the garage.”

  They could use a genie and a few wishes if the house was being watched. “I hope you’ve got a contingency plan for an ambush about the time you back out onto the street.”

  “Working on it, Jess.”

  Chapter 21

  3:00 a.m. Trent’s high hopes for Sal Romano’s team were declining with each passing hour. Now, Trent’s plan might have to incorporate serious crimes, the kind that could get a person locked up for life.

  The nauseating cramp in his gut had kept him awake, and now it threatened to send him to the bathroom to puke. What about every other hour did Sal Romano not understand?

  Sal had called around six o’clock in the morning to say Vince and Jessica were headed toward a popular climbing area called Frenchman Coulee. Since that time, Trent had heard nothing from Sal.

  Trent checked his recent call log again. Nothing. No text messages either. It had been at least fourteen hours.

  If they crashed LACO’s chopper, Trent doubted he could scrape up enough to pay for it and still keep the cash reserves he needed. It was LACO’s own pilot at the controls. That might get Trent off the hook for the chopper, but he would still lose his three men. What would Russo want as compensation? Their agreement hadn’t covered that contingency.

  How the New York underworld might decide to handle such events, perhaps an eye for an eye, brought back Trent’s urge to vomit.

  Regardless, no news was no longer good news.

  Trent hit the speed dial for Sal’s cell phone. It rang until Trent got the voicemail prompt.

  Should he leave a message? Not a good idea. If Sal died in a chopper crash and a cop had Sal’s cell, Trent would have incriminated himself without the opportunity to plead the fifth. He would be pleading stupidity to leave a message. Trent ended the call.

  He had calmed the jittery nerves of MMI board members a couple of days ago, but if this turned out to be bad news—no, he couldn’t allow that. Trent still had valid options, even if Vince, the babe, and Sal’s team were all killed. Well, he had some good options provided Patrick retained control of the company. And, if Virtuality’s ownership got hung up in the courts, Patrick would probably be allowed to keep running Virtuality, so it could deliver on the Army contract.

  That thought settled Trent’s stomach, but only a little. Instead of going head first to the throne, he might be able to back in.

  New York, New York played on Trent’s cell. His pulse revved from andante to allegro. He drew a slow breath and answered.

  “Sal, here, Del Valle.”

  “Where is here, Sal? And what happened to calling every other hour?”

  “I said we would try, but that there might be other factors affecting our calls.”

  “Let’s cut the small talk. What happened on the climb?”

  “That part couldn’t have gone better if we had scripted it, Mr. Del Valle. When the babe, uh, Ms. Jamison, reached the top and was ready to hoist up van Gordon, we came in from behind and took her out of the play. We flew away with her in the chopper, and left van Gordon stuck half way up the rock. And he was obviously a novice climber.”

  “Did he make it off the rock?”

  “Yeah. He managed to get off, somehow.”

  That still left the most desirable option open. “So you took the girl and gave Vince your ultimatum?”

  “We did, sir. But he went ballistic and we had an interesting phone conversation.”

  “So where do things stand now? Is van Gordon playing ball?”

  “Well, sir … it’s like this. Uh … we don’t know where he is.”

  “What? Did he go to the police?”

  “Maybe. In Ellensburg. But they wouldn’t help him yet. She’s an adult and it hasn’t been twenty-four hours.”

  Trent waited, but Sal remained silent.

  “Tell me about this babe, Jessica. She seems to be the key to van Gordon’s heart and his will.”

  “Well … we found out some things about her.”

  A stream of vile words exploded from Trent’s mouth, words he could no longer hold back. He punctuated his outburst with, “Where is the girl?”

  “Like I said, we learned—”

  “Enough, Sal!”

  “It seems she knows karate. She kicked Louie’s face in, flattened his nose, nearly knocked him out, and got aw
ay near the Virtuality lab.”

  That wasn’t even possible. “Are you telling me that three of the best Russo has to offer let a slip of a woman take you out?”

  “She’s a lot stronger than she looks. Incredibly smart and she knows how to fight … the martial arts stuff.”

  “I can’t believe you three. Who did I hire? The Three Stooges?”

  Trent paced his study iterating through his considerable vocabulary of vile descriptions of idiots. It didn’t help. The only thing that would help was to find both the girl and van Gordon.

  “Sal?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where is the girl now?”

  “She’s with van Gordon.”

  “Do you mean I paid for a helicopter, so you could track them, and we’re right back where we started this morning?”

  “No, Mr. Del Valle. They both might be dead.”

  This story had more twists and turns than an Agatha Christie mystery. But, if Sal was right … “Dead? What makes you think that?”

  “We chased them from the lab to the Snoqualmie River. They tried to swim it above the falls.”

  “What falls?”

  “Sir, the whole Snoqualmie River goes over a three-hundred-foot cliff, Snoqualmie Falls. The water in the river comes right off the glaciers in the Cascades. It’s ice water. We took a road below the falls and came up the river with our flashlights. van Gordon’s shirt was in the water.”

  The first bit of good news Trent had heard in this whole sorry conversation.

  “If you saw these falls, you would realize that, if they went over, they’re dead.”

  “Is there any chance they didn’t go over?”

  “Not much. Last time we spotted them, they were hanging onto the safety line just above the falls in a strong current. Louie fired a burst at them. They let go of the line and went under. I don’t think Michael Phelps could swim his way out of that situation.”

  Trent sighed. His knotted gut eased its cramping and he stopped staring at his bathroom door.

  “Mr. Del Valle, should we continue looking for—”

  “No. Absolutely not. Stay away from that area. We’ll just wait. Someone will report them missing. If not, we’ll ask Patrick Michaels to report them missing. If they’re dead, their bodies will turn up. But we don’t want you three associated with them. If they’re not dead, one way or another, we’ll hear about it.”