The Nano-Thief: A Lenny D. Novel (Lenny. D. Novels Book 1)

by Michael Lieberman

  "You still with me, M2?"

  "Where would I go?" At this, Lenny relaxes.

  "Professor," he says, but before he can finish, FDU security and Zoo have arrived. Minutes later the paramedics and HPD arrive.

  Zoo takes one look at M2 and starts to sob. "I'm so sorry for you. Talk to me, can you talk?" And he reaches to take her hand.

  "Yeah, Dr. Lenny says I'm going to be fine. But I've made a decision." Lenny turns to listen along with Zoo. "I'm a cyber ops kind of gal. I'm out of the stand-and-deliver business for a while."

  In minutes the paramedics have Bessnager and M2 on gurneys, though not without protest. M2 says she's okay, she can walk to the elevator and out the front with them. The paramedic shakes her head. She's about to say, over my dead body, but Sammy is still slumped on the floor. She decides against it. Zoo leaves with them for the hospital.

  By this time, a crowd of students, professors, and technicians has gathered outside the office door. But HPD is firm. This is a crime scene, and nobody is allowed in. They can't even get a look.

  Sammy's body is in a heap behind Bessnager's chair, his bloody ear still in the center of the office floor. There's a pool of blood on the floor where M2 fell, and Lenny's Ruger is nearby. Lenny's Glock is on the floor to the right, and Sammy's Beretta has skittered all the way to the front door of the office. There are an indeterminate number of slugs in the wall behind the bloody spot where M2 fell. The two computer cases, the syringe, the whip, even the pliers are evidence. HPD and the ME will evaluate everything.

  They want statements from everyone, beginning with Lenny. He's got a permit for both guns, but FDU is a gun free environment. And M2 is not licensed to carry. But neither gun has been fired. How in the world did a retired securities trader show up with a whip and young woman who works in security for a private firm to save Michael Bessnager's life? And why?

  Over the next few days the three talk to the police, none of them reveals much. Bessnager needs to protect his NAFRA project, M2 needs to protect Zoo, and Lenny needs to stay out of trouble. Besides, the ME will rule Samuel Anderson's death a suicide. No grand jury, even if convened, is going to indict Lenny or M2. They are two heroes. They have saved a man's life and Bessnager's stealth project, though the latter never becomes part of the public record.

  44.

  A few days later, it's a Monday, Lenny and Portia and Barry and M2 meet at Ferndale's for drinks and dinner. Their worlds are almost back to normal. Lenny arrives first. After all, he's a duffer, a retiree with all kinds of time on his hands. He sits at the bar nursing a Prosecco and making small talk with Snorri and Travis, not saying much really. There is plenty to talk about, but not with Travis.

  "I'm going to get a table," he says to Snorri, "so if this is a slow Monday, like most, maybe you can hand the reins to Travis for a while and come by to kibitz. Does that work?"

  It's not really a question, but Snorri is ready for him. "And just why would I be wanting to do that?"

  That's not really a question either, but Lenny is ready. "Because my friends are big tippers. You don't want to rely on a cheapskate like me."

  Portia rolls in. She's got her white Audi back, and she's finished a full day of sales calls. It's been more than a full day. She's been out of the office, and there's a backlog. She's bushed, but up for the evening. In the half empty dining room, she joins Lenny at a table. It's the very same one where they met several years ago, when she and Lenny sat with Amy, Agnes and Abigail, all fresh off the interstate, and invented stories all night.

  Now they're both drinking Prosecco, enjoying a few quiet moments. She's looking good, Lenny thinks, considering what she's gone through. The disemboweled pig in the sink in Navasota flashes through his mind. He wonders if she'd seen it or was she too drugged. He hopes the latter. "Give me one factoid about your day."

  She doesn't miss a beat. "Sometimes boring is beautiful. Nerdy webmasters are not my idea of good company. But today, and maybe for a while, I'm thrilled to talk to them."

  Then M2 is at the table. She works with nerdy webmasters all day every day, and she knows a few socially, especially one Ephraim Zorante. Portia holds her tongue. M2 looks none the worse for wear other than the hat. It's an oversized straw hat, a man's, that covers the spot they shaved and stitched at the back of her crown. When Snorri comes over and pulls the bottle from the ice bucket, she goes, "Let's hear it for the Italians"—meaning the Prosecco. But beyond the bravado, she sits, listening to the conversation, but not saying much.

  "Me, I had a more interesting day than you might think," Lenny says. "The big news is that N.K. seems to have pulled up stakes. I went to the Israeli Consulate website today, just for the hell of it, and you know what, his name is gone and they have taken down his bio and photo."

  "Yeah," Portia says, "you surprised? He's no good to them here. Even I can figure that one out…."

  Before she can speculate further, Barry shows up, straight from UVL. He has caught his father's comment. "He's been recalled to Israel for consultation. Translation, either State has asked him to leave or he left before they could. The buzz around the office is that the money the Chinese sent from Tbilisi…" Snorri waves the Prosecco at him. "Yeah, Snorri, please." Now he's seated between M2 and Portia. And Snorri has filled his glass and one for himself.

  "Snorri, take a load off and listen. So, even as we speak, the cyberspooks at Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv are debriefing N.K. Ben David, you know, the one with the 'political science degree from Tel Aviv University,' or whatever cover they used." He looks at his watch, "Well, probably not even as we speak."

  "So, the Chinese?" Lenny asks.

  "Well, they're happy as a bunch of peasants up to their armpits in moo shu pork. They got what they wanted. Our guys think it's gone, the money is gone from, let's just say, from Warthog to blankety blank, Inc., a U.S. contractor who is selling them something. We think it's advanced underwater drones with a new, very potent warhead. Apparently State and the Pentagon have approved it on the QT. They were happy with the way it worked out, that we thwarted the Israelis below the radar. They don't want any blowback about selling advanced weapons to the Chinese."

  "And the targets?" Lenny wants to know. "So the weapons, what are they going to do with them?"

  "Don't know for sure. Our source says either Sevastopol and the Russia fleet in Crimea or their fleet in Vladivostok. Don't much care, to tell you the truth, but you can bet it's the latest stealth technology and powerful."

  They all know why. Barry has made a bundle. They don't know how much, but probably at his tender age he has already funded his retirement. He slips an envelop under the table to Snorri. When he reaches under the table again, he slides his hand up M2's thigh. "Here's something for you too."

  She smiles. "I won't object to that." Then he reaches over and drops an envelope in her purse. "Yeah, I'm cool with that as well."

  "So, Snorri," Lenny says, "go tell Travis to keep holding down the fort, and while you're at it, bring another bottle back."

  The burner in M2's purse buzzes. "Just a sec," she says into the phone. "I've got to take this. It's work." And she steps away.

  "Yes," she says.

  "We're set."

  "When?"

  "Tomorrow night. Dallas to New York. Then El Al."

  Before Zoo can explain further, she says, "Later," and hangs up. She swallows and bites the inside of her cheek. She mouths, "Little girls' room," to the others. Once there, she looks in the mirror and doesn't like what she sees. Her normally sharp features are further drawn and almost beak-like. She shakes her head as if she's trying to dislodge something unpleasant from her mouth. She looks like an unhooded falcon, afraid of her task.

  She sits in a stall. Unsure which offer to take, though so far Barry has made only gestures in her direction. She's going entirely on instinct. She's sure Zoo is in if she wants to. Her dilemma sucks. You have to call it, as always, and you don't know enough. What if she's Barry's rebound girl and in a month it
's over? What if Zoo screws up, or more to the point, what if the two of them are unsuccessful, if even with Zoo's inside track, they two are unable to get into the NAFRA site and copy the brain-neutralizing nanotech? Successful or not, it's sure they'll have to flee. And that means living in Israel and never coming back. It's heady to work with Zoo. Life on the high wire, one adrenaline rush after another. He's the best of the best, she thinks. And Barry, he's smart in a different way, and the chemistry is volcanic.

  She comes back to the table to find Snorri holding forth about the Faroe Islands and his extended visit there. He's reciting a limerick:

  There once was a fair Faroese,

  Who loved to do the striptease.

  She was buxom and brass

  With a delightful ass

  that brought all the boys to their knees.

  People clap and hoot. Snorri stands and takes a long bow. Unlike Emma Meripol, Snorri is feeling no pain. "Okay, how about this? Ferndale's is buying the next bottle of Prosecco if anyone gets this riddle. Which Canadian Provence is half musical instrument?"

  "You'll be sorry you offered," Lenny says. "SaskatcheWAND, because it has a conductor's wand at the end." When there is complete silence, he says, "You know, like a baton, it's musical, sort of an instrument."

  "Pretty lame, I expect better from my prince," Portia says.

  "Any other takers? Going once, going twice." Snorri stops for the pure drama of the moment. "Going thrice.… It's ManiTUBA. Because…" he sits down before he can finish his thought.

  "Jesus, is this the guy I sent to San Francisco on mission impossible?"

  "Okay, your turn, Lenny." Portia looks at him. "How about a limerick to top Snorri's?" He shakes his head. "Okay, how about a story like the ones you told when we first met that night with the women off the interstate. Barry and M2 have never heard you."

  He gives her a why-are-you-doing-this look. "Hold on…give me just a second here to get organized." The only thing he can think of is the bloody stump his whip had left after its tongue had flicked off Sammy's ear as neatly as a lady picking a chocolate from a box. But he can't say that. So he says, "Okay, let's try this. It's very short:

  The setting sun bled into the harsh West Texas barrens—like blood oozing from the eye of God, as if someone had gouged it with a stick. But McGruder didn't notice. He sat in the heat with his eyes closed. He had "The Chieftains" on his iPod. Tomorrow, he thought, I will go into the woods and beat a drum. Then I will come out and beat some poor motherfucker to death."

  Barry looked at his father. His mouth was drawn to a small circle, as if it had been holding a peeled lychee, and someone had wacked him on the back and forced it from him. He nodded a long, slow nod and smiled. Then he stood, picked up his glass and raised it in silent toast, and sat down.

  M2 was paying no attention. She was still trying to weigh her choices. She has already packed her roll on. The only thing lacking was the small jewelry clutch with her diamond studs. They're still at Lenny's. Zoo will have to understand. And her laptop is good to go. Does she skip out late tonight to work with Zoo and then hit the road to Dallas? Or does she hang and see how it goes with Barry? If she only knew what the dealer had up his sleeve.

  Snorri looks at her, "Why so glum? We couldn't ask for a better outcome."

  She smiles, "Not glum, just a bit tired and hungry. Let's order."

  Snorri stands, looks at the matîre d', and shouts, "Some menus, maestro."

  He sends over a waiter with menus and an order that Snorri return to the bar.

  If I work for Mossad in Tel Aviv, M2 thinks, there will be no end of interesting projects. And you're right there on the Mediterranean, not like Houston, the nowhere of somewheres. She's so famished she could eat a napkin. Comfort food, that's what she wants. Mashed potatoes. She looks down the menu. "Where's the goddamn mac and cheese?"

  When dinner's over, Barry gets up to leave. He's had a long day and wants to turn in early.

  "Wait, I'll walk out with you." And M2 stands and takes his hand. "Come on, let's go." When the valet brings her car, she smiles. It's a less than wholesome smile. "I'll wait. Follow me. I have two pillows." The clarification is unnecessary.

  Portia and Lenny sit for a few minutes. He's half slouched, his eyes closed.

  "A penny for your thoughts."

  "They're not even worth that," he says. "I'm thinking about the many lives of Samuel Anderson—beginning with Sammy, the barista. Well, maybe not beginning there, but that's where I entered the picture. Sammy, the dealer. Almost certainly, Sammy, Mrs. Babcock's lover. All the identities and credit cards. Sammy from Fresno. Maybe Sammy from Dearborn. Sammy, the graduate student. Sammy, the drug maker. Sammy, the arsonist or maybe the inadvertent arsonist. Sammy, who kidnapped you. The slayer of feral pigs. The Fresno escape artist and killer. Sammy, the slippery—now you see him, now you don't. Sammy, the Israeli. Sammy, the Mossad operative. Sammy, the would be nano-thief. And now Sammy, the dead. That's a lot for someone who never made it to thirty."

  "And, you, you know who you are?… You are Lenny, the lucky."

  "No, argument there."

  "Come on, let's go home. I've got to work tomorrow."

  45.

  Emma Meripol is driving to her place when her cell phone buzzes. "Zoo" appears on the screen. She ignores the call. She sees Barry in her rearview. For the present, at least, she has no intention of ignoring him.

  She pushes the door of her apartment open. He's been here once before, but that seems a millennium ago. They don't waste time or words. This time, it's not about him, it's about us. She wraps her arms around him. "I'm hoping I can convince you to dock more than your thumb drive," and she lets out a laugh that's much too big for her body.

  "I've got something much better for you."

  "Oh, yeah, what's that?"

  "I've brought my portable hard drive."

  "Oh really, that's a surprise. I never would have guessed."

  "Yes, really, it's like my Amex Card. I never leave home without it."

  "Well, I don't take credit cards. Can you see what you can do?"

  "Always glad to oblige a mischievous redhead."

  Then they're in bed. It works better than either expects. Soon Barry is sprawled across the bed. His long day at work, the booze, and the sex have conspired to send him into a Rip Van Winkle sleep.

  Emma is flummoxed. She likes this guy. Likes him even more than she thought she did. His sense of humor is wicked. And the sex was not supposed to be this good. She nudges him. He doesn't move. In a minute she's dressed and has rolled her suitcase to the front door. She slings her computer case over her shoulder. And before you can say Sleepy Hollow, she's in her Lexus SUV and driving out of the garage. Her phone chimes and flashes "Zoo." She picks it up and says, "Later." She hangs up and drives. She's headed for Zoo's. It's later than she expected, but then there were delicious, extenuating circumstances.

  It's raining hard and she slows down. No sense wrapping herself around a tree at this stage of the game. She tries to make a right on Center, but there's a barricade up. Her windshield wipers are slapping back and forth, but she can see the flashing lights and a jumble of people further down the road. A traffic accident, she assumes. Since she's got to make a detour anyway, why not swing past Lenny's and pick up her little jewelry case with her studs? She hates the notion of leaving them. It takes a few minutes, but then she's there. She rings the bell, no answer. Does it even work? Of course, you lived there, dummy. She tries again, and when she gets no answer a third time, she calls Lenny's cell. Still no answer. Shit, shit, shit. Now she tries Portia's cell.

  "Hello, M2, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing, I'm outside. I want to get my jewelry case."

  "In the middle of the night? Never mind, I'm coming."

  Now Lenny's up too.

  They look at Emma, who seems small and frail. "I've come by to get my diamond studs. They're in my jewelry case, which I left. Is that okay?"

  "Of course, it is.
What am I not understanding," he says, "is why now. It's the middle of the night, and it's raining hard." She's sniffling and her face wells up. "Come in and sit for a little. Tell us what's up. "

  "You want tea?" Portia asks. She nods. "I'll make some."

  Portia's gone to the kitchen, and Emma has thrown her arms around Lenny. She's squeezing as hard as she can.

  "Oh, honey, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing," she sobs.

  "Certainly, something," Lenny says.

  She's not about to let go. "What wrong? Nothing and everything. Nothing, that's all."

  "Do you want to spend the night with us?" He suspects she and Barry have had a row.

  "No, please, I need to get my diamond studs. I know just where they are." She goes to the back bedroom and finds the jewelry case in the top drawer of the nightstand—just where she's left it. She blows her nose and wipes her eyes. What in God's name am I doing? She threads the stems first through one earlobe and then the other and checks to make sure the backs are on securely. She doesn't bother to go to the mirror. She knows she's a sight.

  In the living she looks at them. She's sobbing, "Thank you for everything. I love you both." She stands to leave.

  "Wait, why you're in such a bad way?"

  But she ignores Lenny's plea. "Good night, and again, thank you." And she lets herself out.

  She heads back the way she came, but the road to Zoo's place is still blocked. She picks up her burner and calls him. When he picks up, she says, "Don't worry," and hangs up. She turns toward home where Barry is sprawled on her bed. When she gets there, she leaves her roll on in the trunk. And sure enough Barry is out cold where she left him.

  She undresses and lets her clothes fall to the floor beside the bed. She stands still for a moment, looking at him. Then she bends down and strokes his cheek. He doesn't stir. She brings her face close to his body and breathes in his scent. It's a musty, man smell that fills her nostrils, then her lungs, and then the deep, prehuman memory centers of her brain. She stands. Lingers. She looks at this guy in her bed and sighs. She bites her lip and walks into the kitchen. She calls Zoo. When he picks up, she says, "I'm out."