Five in a Row

by Jan Coffey

  It had dropped. Emily looked through a large glass window as three agents in the adjoining lab scrambled to trace the call. The agent who had answered the phone was doing more listening than talking, and Emily could see her writing down the information.

  She couldn’t hear anything that was being said. But from the looks on their faces, she knew their man was on the line.

  Emily pushed to her feet. She saw Ben walk into the adjoining lab. The phone conversation didn’t last more than thirty seconds. From the moment the agent ended the call, there was a flurry of activity in there. Unable to contain her curiosity, Emily headed for the connecting door.

  Ben met her there.

  “It was him.”

  She nodded. Looking through the glass, she saw someone turn up the volume on the TV that had been tuned to CNN all night. “What has he done now?”

  “He claims he drove a bus up onto the grounds of the Capitol Building in D.C.,” Ben said. He opened the door for her and both of them walked inside the lab.

  “The SAC is on his way,” the agent who’d been talking on the phone told them.

  “Were you able to confirm his claim?” Ben asked.

  The agent nodded solemnly. “It hit the barriers across the street. Hinckey says D.C. is getting ready to raise the alert level.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Emily asked.

  “There were eight people injured in the bus, including the driver. No pedestrian injuries and no word of fatalities, as yet. I was only able to get the preliminary report that rescue squads are on the scene.” She looked up at the TV screen as CNN headlines came on. Nothing yet about the accident. “I think it’s even too early for these guys to get wind of it. Still, he could be bluffing and simply be reporting something that he picked up on the police or rescue wires.”

  Emily and Ben looked at each other. They both knew that Lyden Gray wasn’t bluffing.

  Ben put a hand on her shoulder. Emily reached up and took it. She needed him beside her.

  “What else did Gray tell you?” she asked tensely.

  “Special Agent Hinckey is coming in from New Haven by helicopter. He’ll be able to brief you in just a few min—”

  “What did he say?” she snapped, her patience wearing thin.

  The agent looked at her for a second and then stared down at the pad of paper in her hand. “He said we have two strikes against us. The money wasn’t transferred on time, and he knows that we substituted an agent for you at the airport.”

  Emily wasn’t even going to ask how he knew that. Everything about Lyden Gray freaked her out. Once she’d been able to get past the security wall on his computer, she was stunned to discover all the files he had there on her. Hundreds of pictures. Personnel files from every job she’d ever held. Information packages from the consulting jobs and announcements of all the lectures. Even school records going back to high school. And then there were her social security records and every bit of detail concerning her finances and credit information. Her entire life was recorded on his computer.

  The whole thing was terrifying, and it had taken great control to look past them and search for the other information they needed.

  “Did he make another demand?” Ben asked.

  “Yes,” the agent said tensely.

  “What does he want?”

  “Double the amount of money and Ms. Doyle on an eight-o’clock flight out of Bradley to the same destination.” The agent cleared her voice. “We just checked the airline’s passenger lists, and he’s already made a reservation for her.”

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  Suddenly, Emily couldn’t breathe. She had to get out of the room. Her eyes were burning. Her throat was closing on her. She stepped blindly into the hallway and turned away from the lab. One of the agents was walking down the hall. She shoved at a door and walked into the semidarkness of a small classroom. The shades on the windows were drawn, but the morning light was managing to filter through.

  The tears fell fast. She shut the door and let her misery out.

  Why her? What had she ever done to become this man’s obsession? She didn’t know him. FBI had been able to find a picture of Lyden Gray. He had an ordinary face like any one of a thousand people that one could walk past on a street. Nothing distinguishing about him.

  She bumped into an aluminum chair, but caught it before it fell. She sank down onto it. Emily didn’t know what the FBI would do. She had no clue if they’d be able to assemble and transfer that kind of money in less than two hours time. She also didn’t think they would force her to actually go and meet Gray at the airport. Still, Emily didn’t think she could live with her conscience if more people were hurt.

  She buried her face in her hands. Emily knew she had to get a hold on her emotions, think clearly and objectively. He was trying to crush her. At one time, Gray may have been attracted to her, but Emily knew that phase of his obsession was over. He was now determined to hurt her. Hurt everyone that she cared about. But by causing that accident yesterday and hurting Conor, he had drawn the ultimate line—in blood.

  There was a soft tap on the door, and she saw Ben poke his head in.

  “Can I come in?”

  Emily saw him holding two coffee cups. “Please do,” she whispered.

  “Milk, one sugar.” He handed her one of the cups.

  She took it gratefully and brought it to her lips. He turned a chair around and sat across from her. Their knees touched. Her gaze caught the large clock on the wall.

  “It’s 6:25. Only an hour and thirty-five minutes left.”

  “I spoke with my parents on the phone. I asked them if they would keep Conor at the house in Westport. They’ll find plenty for him to do. I don’t think he’ll mind if it’s only for a day or two.”

  Emily nodded. “I don’t want him anywhere near me, or anywhere he could be found by this jerk. I talked to him last night, before he went to bed. He likes your parents a lot. It’s so nice of them and you to do this for us. Of taking my son in and—”

  “Stop with all the gratitude stuff.” He reached up and wiped the tears off her face. His fingers caressed her cheek. The look of tenderness in his eyes made her feel whole, special, cared for.

  “Still, thank you,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  He’d given up wearing the sling. Emily studied him closer. Despite the accident on Sunday and the surgery, despite the lack of sleep, he looked as solid as a rock. Coherent. On top of his game. Himself.

  “I need some of your focus,” she told him. “I have to be more like you.”

  “You only need to be yourself. You have the focus. He’s rattled you. But you’ll keep your feet under you.”

  “I feel like I have all the pieces of a puzzle, but I don’t know which piece to start with.”

  “That’s what his game is all about. He’s not giving anyone time to do anything. Especially you. His intent is to shut you down. Make you submit to him.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” she said tensely. “He might think he has my entire life packaged neatly in a handful of computer files, but he doesn’t know me. Not the person inside.”

  “That is your best defense against him. You’re a fighter.” Ben smiled at her encouragingly. “So fight him.”

  “I still don’t know where to start,” she said to him honestly. “I have a feeling if I focus on the stereo PC board configurations, I could possibly see something that the rest of those programmers aren’t. But that takes time.”

  “And going through his network of computers instead?”

  “Finding the component registry ID was easy, since I went out looking for a database. But the rest of it is a black hole. He has too much information in there. And too many distractions along the way. That, again, is a slow process,” Emily admitted. “Even if I get lucky and find how he’s constructed the virus, that’s not enough. The bigger problem will be to come up with a patch to nullify his action.”

  Ben put his
coffee cup on the floor. “I’m no expert in any of this. But can I run something by you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “We have Gray’s computers from home and work here.”

  She nodded. A couple of hours ago, three FBI agents had brought over everything that they’d confiscated from Lyden’s workplace. Emily hadn’t had the opportunity to take a look at any of it.

  “It seems as if he wasn’t expecting to be found, since he didn’t try to destroy any of the equipment.”

  Emily nodded again.

  “Even though he’s missing in action, we know that Gray has the capability of executing his programs and running the virus anytime and from anywhere he wants.”

  “Yes, I assume through a laptop,” Emily said.

  “I’ve been trying not to be a fifth wheel in this part of the investigation, so I’ve been going through all the files on the accidents.” Ben leaned his elbows on his knees. “The first accident happened twenty-one months ago in Albany, New York. The name of the victim was Michael Sherwood. The location of the accident was the parking lot of Hudson Hills Software.”

  “Did he and Gray know each other?”

  “Sherwood was Lyden’s immediate supervisor.”

  “He tested the virus out on his own boss?” Emily asked.

  “Reading the reports of that accident, I’d say he tried to kill his boss,” Ben corrected. “Which brings me to the possibility that he had duplicates of the remote control program—the same thing as he has on his laptop—on his computers at home and at work.”

  Emily sat up straight in the chair. “It’s perfectly logical.”

  “Then wouldn’t it be easier for you to be looking for such a program on his computer, instead of trying to find the architecture of how and where he’s hiding the virus?”

  “That would be easier. But what would we do with it once we found it?” Emily asked, feeling Ben’s excitement.

  “You said before that the virus is only good one time, that when it’s been activated once, it closes the back door on itself.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then we can do what he’s been doing. Activate the virus to kill it. A one shot deal. Be there for a fraction of a second and get out. Chop away at his potential army.”

  Emily’s mind raced. “Once I find his remote-control activation program. I can easily come up with a program that will run the commands to activate and deactivate the virus.”

  “It’d be a hell of a lot faster than cross-referencing VIN numbers through the state motor vehicle departments.”

  “Absolutely. And I can run the program on a loop, over and over, until we get them all.” Emily put her own cup down next to his, thinking it through. “So long as the vehicle’s engine is turned on, the program would work.”

  “The last count puts the number at over four and half million infected components.”

  She stood up. “We can stop him.”

  He held her hand. “The big question now is how difficult will it be to find that remote-control program on his computer?”

  “My guess is that it’ll be findable. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got it set up to operate like a video game.”

  Fifty-One

  Conor liked everything about Ben Colter, including his parents and their dogs.

  From what he could see, their house in Westport was big but not out of control. There were lots of rooms, but it was easy to find your way around and the place wasn’t furnished like a museum. Mrs. Colter had explained to Conor last night that this was where she and her husband had raised their four sons, so he was expected to be loud and run around and put his feet on the table when he watched TV.

  When his mom had dropped him off here, however, she’d made him swear that he would not do any of that.

  On normal school days, Conor had to be bombed out of the bed in the morning. Last night had been tough in the sleeping department, though. His mom had called right before he’d gone to bed, so he knew she was okay. Still, he’d hardly slept. And when he did doze off, he’d had nightmares of race cars speeding out of control and strangers talking to him through car radios.

  Waking up had been a relief. The sky was a deep blue, and Conor lay in bed for a few minutes, looking out the window at the multicolored leaves of the trees. He showered, being careful not to wet his bandaged head, dressed, and was downstairs by 6:45. He didn’t know what time he was being picked up for school, but he wasn’t going to chance making any extra work for Mr. and Mrs. Colter.

  The two golden retrievers, Queenie and Duke, met him at the bottom of the stairs, following Conor as he took a few wrong turns before finding the kitchen. Mrs. Colter greeted him as he came in.

  “What are you doing out of bed so early, sweetheart?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I told John to go up twenty minutes ago and tell you that you had a day off from school today. But he said you were a teenager and wouldn’t be getting up unless we woke you up. So we decided it would just be better to let you sleep.”

  Mr. Colter lowered the newspaper and smiled at Conor. “Well, he’s up and dressed. Want some breakfast?”

  “Sure. But how come…I mean, are the schools in Wickfield closed today?”

  “I don’t know about the schools. But your mother and Ben asked us to keep you home, just for today, while everything gets ironed out in Wickfield.”

  That didn’t tell Conor much. But he had a feeling Ben’s parents might not know much, either.

  “Did you sleep well last night, young fella?” Mr. Colter asked.

  He nodded, deciding to be polite.

  “And how’s your head this morning?” Ben’s mother asked.

  The stitched up gash on his forehead had been throbbing ever since he got up, but there was no point in complaining. “It’s fine, thanks.”

  “Ben tells me you’re interested in cars,” Mr. Colter said.

  “Yeah, I am. Well, some cars, anyway.”

  “Did he tell you about the 1958 Aston DB4 he gave me as a retirement present? I’ve been restoring it in the old barn down in the back.”

  The teenager shook his head. “No. Seriously?”

  “He said I needed a hobby to keep me out of his mother’s hair, and he thought restoring an old junker would do the trick.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “No more car talk until Conor has had breakfast,” Mrs. Colter scolded. “How would you like some waffles?”

  “That’d be great,” he answered and then smiled down at the two dogs. That was all it took for Queenie and Duke to start barking and prancing playfully.

  “John, your dogs haven’t been out yet.”

  “My dogs. Did you hear that, young fella?” Mr. Colter said with a wink.

  “I can take them out,” Conor offered quickly.

  “You haven’t had breakfast,” Ben’s mother said, scowling at her husband.

  “That’s okay. I’m already dressed. I love dogs.” He patted the heads of the two excited beasts.

  “You don’t have to keep them on a leash,” she said, giving in with a smile. “Just let them out in the backyard. They’ll do their business and come back when you call them. I’ll have your waffles ready.”

  It had been dark last night when they arrived at the Colter residence. Emily and Ben couldn’t stay long, and the same older SUV, driven by an FBI agent, that had brought them down had taken them back. Conor hadn’t really had a chance to do any exploring.

  The October air was crisp and there was a hint of salt in it. Conor filled his lungs. He knew they were close to the Long Island Sound. He looked at the Colters’ impressive backyard as Queenie rolled in the wet grass and Duke started sniffing hedges.

  The house was located at the end of a cul-de-sac, and there were no fences separating their yard from the next house. In the distance, through the trees to the right, Conor could see the roofline of an imposing brick house.

  Duke brought an old tennis ball he’d found and
dropped it at the teenager’s feet. Conor picked it up and threw it, sending the two dogs racing after it, growling at each other playfully.

  This was an awesome backyard, and it didn’t matter how old you were. There was a paved half court for basketball to the right. Next to it, there was a good-size lawn that could be used for soccer or throwing a football or even setting up a volleyball net.

  Conor walked past a trellis to his left and along some green hedges. At the far end of them, as he expected, there was a huge in-ground pool and beyond that there was a barn where he figured Mr. Colter was restoring his old Aston. There were two small sailboats and a canoe leaning up against the barn and a dirt drive that ran down toward the woods. He bet they were very close to the water.

  “What a cool place,” he murmured to himself.

  The pool was already covered with a tarp, but Conor imagined it was fantastic in the summer. His gaze took in a bricked patio and a cabana that looked like a small house on the far end of the pool. Blinds were closed behind glass doors and windows, and the building was obviously closed up for the winter months, too.

  Conor could imagine Ben and his brothers playing basketball and then running and jumping into the pool. It wasn’t the fact that they had all this, had so many things, that made him feel sad at that moment. It was just that they’d had a big family. Ben had grown up with people around. Lots of them.

  For so long, Conor’s own family had only consisted of the three of them. His mom, his aunt Liz and him. And his dad and Anne, of course…for the couple of weeks during the summer when he visited them. It just wasn’t the same, though. Conor saw his grandparents maybe twice during the year, at Christmas and a week during the summer. They were nice, but pretty much strangers to him. They never forgot to send him a present for his birthday, but that wasn’t really what he wanted.

  Conor guessed Mr. and Mrs. Colter never missed one of their grandchildren’s games or concerts. He had a feeling they were the kind that would show up to have dinner with one of their kid’s families one night a week—at least—and probably even take the grandchildren home for the weekend.