Off the Grid (A Gerrit O'Rourke Novel)

by Young, Mark

  “It’ll come. Each of us will help you develop the tools you’ll need to lead this unit. I know you will do great. A real asset to our side. And when—or if—the time comes for you to lead, you must be prepared.”

  Voices in the other room rose for a moment. Alena seemed to be trying to calm them down. Always the peacemaker.

  “Beck Malloy will be your contact. I want you to follow his direction—whatever he tells you, do it! Promise me.”

  “Sure, Joe. But I don’t even know the guy.”

  His uncle gave him a folded-up piece of paper. “Memorize this phone number and then destroy the note. Alena is the only other person who knows about Beck right now. Don’t give his name out to anyone. If you ever need help—call it. The man on the end of that line can be trusted. With everything. He’s a true patriot. If he ever makes direct contact with you,” Joe said, clutching his hands, “it will probably mean I’m dead. It will be time for you to take over and lead the fight.”

  “Let’s hope that day never comes.”

  “Hey, I plan to be around awhile. Just in case, though, remember what I told you. Okay? No questions asked.”

  Gerrit shrugged. “You know me, Joe. I never work well with others.”

  “I’ve watched you over the years, my boy. You’re a born leader. Just remember that those working for you need to know they have your trust and respect.”

  Again, he heard voices rise in the other room. Louder this time. More intense.

  “Let’s join the others. The boys and I will need to leave soon.”

  Gerrit followed his uncle down the hall and into the kitchen. Alena had donned an apron that captured actress Geena Davis portraying an assassin with amnesia in the movie The Long Kiss Goodnight. The apron depicted a scene where Davis hurls a long-bladed knife across her kitchen, sticking it in wood with pinpoint accuracy, after discovering she is very handy with sharp cutlery. Her boyfriend and daughter stare at her in shock. The apron quotes Davis saying, “Chefs do that.”

  Alena looked across the kitchen at Gerrit, waving a knife in her hand, and caught him staring at the apron. “What can I say, I love Geena Davis.”

  In the movie, he remembered that Davis was not what she appeared to be—a schoolteacher and caring mother. She turned out to be a highly trained assassin. Again, he wondered about Alena’s past.

  He eyed the knife for a moment. She lowered it to the counter, watching him.

  Redneck, straddling a chair, looked up at Gerrit. “So, Mr. J squared you away? How to control us and all that?”

  Gerrit leaned on the counter. “He told me specifically how to control you, RD.”

  Redneck squinted. “Artie…what kind of name is that? Sounds like a loser Pea brain might hang around with. You know, someone a little light in the loafers?”

  “Not Artie…R. D.,” Gerrit said, emphasizing each letter. “Since you like to shorten everyone’s name, well, I’m throwing one back at you and Mr. W.”

  The big man seemed to think about it, and his expression telegraphed his displeasure. “I don’t know. How about you just call me Redneck?”

  “Arrrrtie,” Willy said, slurring the letters together. “I don’t know…Arrrrrtie. I like it. It has a certain flair.”

  Redneck stood. “And I can tell you where to shove that flair, Stickman.”

  Excited, Willy raised up until he was even to Redneck’s gut. “Stickman. You—”

  “Stop it. Both of you.” Alena picked up the knife, waving it for emphasis. “You guys help me set the table. Quietly.”

  The two men approached the dining table like two male lions, warily eyeing each other. Just as things settled down, Gerrit heard Willy whisper, “Artie…hand me the silverware, you sweet thang.” As Redneck roared back, Willy scurried away, grinning from ear to ear. Alena tried to look stern, but she finally turned away to hide a smile.

  Gerrit looked around the room and saw Joe standing off in the corner. The man seemed oblivious to all the bantering, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance. The man’s expression looked troubled, his forehead creased and wrinkled with worry.

  Then Gerrit remembered what Joe had just asked. “If something happens to me, Beck Malloy will make contact. I want you to follow his direction—whatever he tells you, do it! Promise me.”

  It was a promise Gerrit hoped he never had to keep.

  Chapter 30

  Seagulls angrily screeched above as Gerrit emerged from a Starbucks, handing a caramel frappuccino to Alena. He peered warily at the fog-riddled gray clouds, waiting for one of those circling dive-bombers to strike.

  She cupped both hands around the Styrofoam cup and sniffed. “Oh, how I love that smell.”

  Gerrit took one sip of his plain cup of house blend and scorched his tongue. “Whoa. Better let that cool.”

  Alena shouldered a backpack, handed him a cell phone, and began walking along the Embarcadero. “Joe asked that I give you a phone since you lost that last one I gave you in the bombing. Use it only to contact one of us. Once you use it—toss it.”

  He looked at the phone. “That must get expensive. And how do you know each other’s cell number if you keep tossing them each time?”

  They crossed the broad thoroughfare in front of the Ferry Building, then made their way along the sidewalk before she replied. “We only use them in emergencies; we have other ways to communicate.”

  “Carrier pigeons?”

  Alena grinned. “We might consider it one of these times.” A man in a business suit came up from behind, walking briskly. She eyed the stranger for a moment, waiting until the man was out of earshot before continuing. “We have a common e-mail service we can all access. The account is listed under a…how do you say boggie name?”

  “You mean bogus name? Fake name? But they can track those messages.”

  She gave him a patient smile. “We draft an e-mail but never send it. Each of us can access the account, read the draft, then add to it if we need to share information or need clarification. The last person to read everything is responsible for deleting the entire file.”

  “Ah, so there’s no way to intercept those messages. Sweet. I heard of drug dealers and terrorists using that method to communicate. Fashioned after the old dead-letter drop.”

  “Try to access the account each day. If there is any hint that the account has been compromised, alert everyone and go to the next. We have a number of accounts, all inactive, all unconnected, until we are ready to use them. Each of us knows the order of those accounts.”

  Alena slowed down, finally stopping. She turned and looked over his shoulder—searching the sidewalk and street beyond. “Get used to this, Gerrit. Always be on the alert, looking for the unusual.”

  He was already looking beyond her shoulder, visually scanning the area. “As a cop, I come by this naturally.”

  “You are no longer a police officer, as you pointed out yesterday,” she said, slightly above a whisper. “Everyone is the enemy—cops and crooks alike.”

  “You talking specifics?”

  Her eyes, darker that her coffee drink, looked at him for a moment. “Just before your house was bombed, Kane called someone inside the Seattle Police Department.”

  Gerrit tensed. “Who?”

  She shrugged. “We don’t know. The number returned to a secretary’s desk in the department. Investigations. However, it was a late-night call and that particular employee was home in bed. We checked.”

  “So, someone waited for Kane’s call.”

  “After everything was blown sky high, Kane received a call from that same phone. The caller never used that line again to make contact. They probably have a more secure way to communicate. Unfortunately, a number of people from other agencies had access to that area. Federal and local. Someone from any of those agencies could have used that phone.”

  Gerrit looked down at the sidewalk for a moment. “You know, there is a way—”

  “We know. Joe is following up on that. Contacts he has in NSA. People
he trusts. We might even be able to get a voice print off the phone if no one on the other side learns of our efforts.”

  He looked up. “Kane may have people in place to monitor these requests. Like those he has searching Joe’s background and my information right now.”

  She nodded. “We must be very careful. So far, Joe and Willy have kept our backstory and communications protected—as far as we know. This world is getting so complicated.” She shifted her backpack. “Okay, Mr. G. Time to go to work.”

  “Lead the way, Al.”

  In the distance he saw the blue-gray markings of Pier 39, a high-rent tourist attraction he was sure Alena stayed away from. Too many eyes. Instead, she turned toward one of the older buildings connected to a pier that jutted out into the San Francisco Bay. The building, close to the Embarcadero, had a tan stucco front and stone cornices protruding from the edges. A half-oval entryway, like the entrance to an immense cave, gave large trucks access to a colossal warehouse beyond. To the left of that, a doorway—flush with the building’s facade—provided pedestrian access from the sidewalk.

  She fished out a set of keys and opened the door. He followed her up a flight of stairs to the second floor, then down a narrow hallway to an office set back in the building. She slipped a key into the lock of an ancient door, opaque glass on the upper half and wooden panels below, with Golden Gate Book & Document Restoration Company etched on smoky-colored glass.

  He watched as she quickly opened it. “Do you actually do any restoration?”

  “Not if I can get out of it.” She shoved open the door. “But I could if someone insisted.”

  A musty odor of old paper and books greeted him as they entered. He walked into a larger open-spaced room with an enclosed office at the far left. They made their way toward this office, and as she opened the door, he saw a view of the Bay beyond. “Hey, nice place to hang out. Great view.”

  Without saying a word, she knelt before a large safe and punched in a code. The safe clicked open. She reached inside and pulled out a small package, handing it to him. “I’ve been working on these for some time. Just in case you might need them. I hope you like the name David Marshall. You’re stuck with it for now.”

  “David Marshall? I’ll have to get used to it.” He opened up the package and saw a wallet inside among other things. In the wallet, a California driver’s license with that name. He also found a U.S passport and several major credit cards. “So…David Marshall, huh? Are these credit cards any good?”

  “You bet. Up to twenty-five thousand dollar limit on each card and a work history I’ll have to go over with you.” He examined the wallet and pulled out the driver’s license, looking at her for a moment. Alena smiled. “You knew already I like the name David. And Marshall, well I am a fan of that John Wayne movie True Grit. You are not like that old lawman, but I think you have the same traits.”

  “You mean I eat too much, and I have a nasty disposition?”

  She laughed. “No. That you are willing to take chances, not afraid of risks.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Remember, I have been watching. Like that incident you got involved with down in San Diego this month.”

  That shootout in La Jolla seemed years ago in a different life. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. How soon after my parents’ deaths did you get involved with all this? With me?”

  “When your dad…” She stopped, her eyes widening for a moment as if she forgot and spilled something she never intended. “I mean—”

  “What about my dad, Alena? Do you know something about him? About my folks?”

  She turned away. “Ask Joe about all that. He’ll tell you.”

  “He can’t tell me anything about my dad prior to the bombing. I mean, they were brothers and all, but they were never that close. I never understood the trouble between Joe and Dad, but they went their separate ways after working together at MIT for years. My uncle would visit me every few years when he happened to be in town. And then that scare in Chicago… I guess they never got a chance to work things out. What can you tell me?”

  “I am not the one, Gerrit. You must ask Joe.”

  “I’m asking you.” Anger made his request rather curt. He tried to tone it down. “I mean, what’s the big secret? After all this time and everything that has happened, certainly all this can be out in the open. Right?”

  “Not everything,” she said, quietly.

  His cell phone vibrated. He withdrew it and saw a text message had been sent. He punched in the connection and scrolled down to the message. It was from his uncle. His jaw tightened as he read it. He handed the phone to Alena. “You better read this.”

  She grabbed it and read aloud. “Tell Al danger. Alert. Move quick. Compromised. PU at birdcage midnight. “ She lowered the phone. “This is tsuris…bad trouble.”

  He stared at her. “What does it mean?”

  She glanced up, frowning. “A breach in our security. We’re to meet Joe and the others at the airport at midnight tonight. Bring your new identification and leave everything else behind. Old ID, clothes, everything that’s not new. I’ll lock them up in the safe here until we know we can retrieve them.”

  “My old ID? What are you talking about?”

  “I mean…everything…can be tracked.”

  “Aren’t you a bit paranoid?”

  “That’s what keeps us alive,” she snapped. “I don’t have time to explain everything right now. Use your brain, Gerrit. You know what tracking capabilities are out there. Oy vey! All your scientific background should be good for something. Right?” She turned toward him, angry. “I don’t have time to hold your hand.”

  “I never asked you to hold my hand.” He drew himself up.

  She ripped Gerrit’s cell phone apart, tossed the parts on the ground, and stomped on each one. “If I had not been watching your butt, they’d be fishing out parts of you from the lake. Who knows, maybe they would have whacked you before you even got home.” She shook with rage.

  He had never seen this side of her. She looked like she could take his head off. “Cool down, Alena. I only meant—”

  “Save your excuses. Right now, we need to move.” She wheeled around and withdrew a small gym bag from a closet. She carried it over to him and opened it. “I’m waiting, Gerrit.”

  He handed her his old wallet and felt the pocket watch in his pocket. Hesitating, he slowly withdrew it, rubbing his thumb over the smooth finish. Reluctantly he placed it in the gym bag. He had carried that watch every day since his father first gave it to him. Just clutching it would give him a feeling of connection, a link to his past. Now, that link must be severed. Just like everything else in his life.

  She took the bag and flung it into the safe. “Anything else? Watch, jewelry, clothing? Anything we did not give you after the explosion.”

  He thought back and shook his head.

  “Okay, let’s get moving.” She pushed the safe door closed and locked it. “We need to leave this place and never return until we know it is safe.”

  “Safe from what?”

  “From surveillance, tracking devices, you name it. Until we know no one can link us and this place together. Same with my place in the Haight.”

  “Just like that. Up and leave everything behind?”

  Her expression seemed to soften for a moment. “Look, I am sorry for being so uptight, but Mr. J’s message is serious. It means something is really, really wrong. And until we know what the danger is, we have to run and leave everything behind. It is hard, but you will get used to this.”

  “Have you gotten used to it?”

  Alena’s eyes tightened. “It seems I have been running my whole life. It is just the way things are. Now, let’s move.”

  Chapter 31

  Shop till you drop—or die. Gerrit smiled as he watched Alena eyeing Macy’s. They climbed out of a cab in San Francisco’s Union Square and entered the large department store, searching for clothing they might need on the run—coats
, jeans, shirts and blouses, even shoes. He watched her trying on a black, sporty leather jacket.

  “So, this is what you do every time Joe says to run? You go shopping?”

  Once they put some distance between them and the office, Alena seemed to relax, although he could see she was as vigilant as a lioness catching the scent of danger. Alena glanced around for the millionth time. “This is the upside of our kind of life. You get to do a lot of shopping.” She took off the jacket and tucked it under her arm.

  “I have to wonder why you leave everything behind. Kane and the others got close enough to put trackers on us? I mean, I know I met him face-to-face overseas, but don’t you think you’re a bit dramatic?”

  Her face flushed. “Dramatic? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Look, I’d already be dead if they are tracking me. The fact they didn’t find me in Idaho after the bombing tells me they did not have RFID and GPS trackers in place. Otherwise, I would be sucking up dirt right now.”

  “But they could have tracked us in any number of ways—satellite surveillance, location sensors, you name it.”

  “I know all that, Alena. My point, they haven’t come yet. We might be going through all this for nothing.”

  “I…Joe and the others can’t take that chance. And right now, Joe’s calling the shots.”

  “Maybe he is too careful. Look, Alena, we have to look at this practically. There are endless possibilities for them to track us, but we must look at the percentages. Right now, I’d say the odds are slim they have locked in on us. I think they’re just fishing. The net they cast is so broad, going back all those years.”

  “You may be right, but I trust Joe’s instincts.” She ran her fingers over an alpaca off-the-shoulder sweater displayed on a faceless mannequin in the aisle. “So, smart guy, dazzle me with your science.”

  “Dazzle you, huh?” He smiled. “Okay, say I was your husband—”

  “My husband? Fat chance.”

  “Just pretend for a moment. I’d want to keep an eye on your spending spree. I might start with slipping a chip on you. A Radio Frequency ID tag. You have an ATM card, right?”