Of Patriots and Tyrants

by Alex Ander

  The auction started at nine o’clock, after breakfast. Bidders from several unknown locations would compete via an encrypted Internet connection. Once the auction ended, the guests would be taken back to their point of origin.

  Hardy stretched out on the bed and interlaced fingers under his head. “You know, I don’t think Isaac likes me very much.”

  Lying next to Hardy, Cruz put her hands on her stomach and crossed her ankles. “Doesn’t like you? He despises you. He’s doing a good job of concealing it, but every time you open your mouth, his body shudders.”

  Hardy laughed. “So it’s working then. I’m getting under the old boy’s skin.”

  Cruz pointed at her temple. “I can see a blood vessel pulsing, while he’s calming himself down. I wouldn’t want to be on his left when that thing blows.”

  Hardy sniggered and folded one arm over his chest.

  For several minutes, the two stared at the opaque covering above the bed, Hardy mulling over the day and planning for tomorrow’s events, Cruz contemplating the sleeping arrangements. The room’s stillness made the waves outside seem closer.

  “Well,” said Hardy, “we better get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

  Lifting a leg, Cruz placed her knee onto his midsection. “Will you do the honors again?”

  He propped his body on an elbow and slid a zipper. “You get into these things by yourself. What would you do without me…just leave them on and go to bed?”

  “Is that what you’d want me to do?” She grinned. “Do you like a woman in boots?”

  He unzipped the second boot, got to his knees and pulled the tall shaft down her leg. “Is that a serious question?” He tugged at her other ankle and let the pieces of legwear fall to the floor. “Because I’m not sure I know a man who doesn’t.” Hardy fell back at her side.

  Cruz rolled toward him, pointed an elbow at the headboard and used her palm as a pillow. “What is it with men and boots?”

  He smiled.

  “Do all men like them?”

  Hardy bobbed his head and shrugged. “Show me a man who says he doesn’t, and I’ll show you a liar.” He waited a beat. “Or at the very least someone who isn’t in touch with reality.”

  Cruz grinned, her eyes going up and down his body. “So as long as you brought it up…”

  Hardy frowned. Uh-oh, this can’t be good.

  “Do you also like lingerie?”

  “You know,” his brows came together, “I never really thought I had the body for it.”

  Lowering her head to her shoulder and straightening the arm, “Funny guy,” Cruz played with his hair. “What about stockings and garters?” She hesitated, trying to think of other articles of clothing. “Oh,” she put a hand on his chest. “How about teddies…corsets?”

  Hardy felt his face, among other things, getting warm. This isn’t a wise conversation to have before bed. He sprang to his feet and headed toward the bathroom. “I just remembered…I have to pee. While I’m in there, I’ll get ready for bed.”

  … … … … …

  Cruz flicked off the bathroom light and shuffled to the bed. The room was dark, but she could make out a lump on the floor, at the foot of the bed. “Hardy?”

  “Down here.” Shirtless and wearing his white pants, Hardy lay on a blanket, head on a satin pillow.

  She put a knee onto the mattress. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to get some shuteye…you should do the same.”

  She took off a silk robe—one of many in the closet—and slid under the covers, wearing a white cotton bra and high cut briefs. She propped a pillow against the headboard and sat back. A second later, she brought her knees up and wrapped arms around them, her mind revisiting Hardy’s words from this morning: ‘Sleeping on the couch is not great for my back.’ She crinkled her nose. The floor’s going to be worse.

  “Good night, Cruz.”

  She hesitated. “Good night.” Her knees dropped, and she crossed her arms. Letting her head fall against the headboard, she stared at the top of the canopy. Her chest rose and fell, and she forced out a long breath of air through her nose. Maybe just this one time. She touched her forehead, chest, left and right shoulder and said a quick prayer. Moments later, she made the sign of the cross again. “Get up here,” she whispered.

  Hardy opened his eyes. “Did you say something, Cruz?”

  She threw back the second half of the covers. “I said get up here. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”

  Hardy made a straight line with his eyebrows. She brings up lingerie, and then wants me to sleep with her? She’s playing with fire.

  “You have to promise me there’ll be no monkey business.”

  He got to his feet and crawled into the bed. “Scout’s honor.”

  She turned her head and peered at him out of one eye. “You were a boy scout?”

  He curled up one side of his mouth. “No.”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  “But I promise I’ll be a gentleman.”

  Cruz put a hand to his cheek and kissed him. Her gaze rose and fell from his eyes to his mouth, the same feelings from this morning churning inside her. Take a breath, Raychel. Take a breath. Just go to sleep. “Good night, Hardy.” She rolled away to the sound of his voice: “Good night, Cruz.”

  … … … … …

  Nine hours later, dressed in their same clothes from yesterday, Hardy and Cruz stood in their room, facing each other. “Are we good to go?” she said.

  He nodded. “I’ve got the first ten bids memorized. You?”

  She nodded. Cruz had the next five bids committed to memory.

  “We shouldn’t need your five. I don’t see these people spending that much on this software program.”

  “If Cherry stops that transaction before we’re back in Florida, we’re as good as dead.”

  Puckering his lips, Hardy shook his head. “She won’t. Jameson is aware of the situation. He’ll wait for confirmation of our safety before he tells her to intercept the payment.”

  “I guess we’re set then.” She curled an arm under his elbow. “Let’s do this.”

  His canvas shoes remained cemented to the floor.

  She stood straight. “What is it?”

  He made a face. “I don’t know. I’ve got this feeling in my gut. Something isn’t right.” He opened wide his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out. “Maybe it’s just nerves.” Hardy’s nerves never got the better of him. He forced a smile and reached for the door. “Are you ready, Miss Adams?”

  “Why yes I am, Mr. Diamond.” She took a step and stopped. “By the way, thank you for last night.”

  He looked at her.

  “Thank you for being a perfect gentleman.”

  He chuckled. “My pleasure.”

  She smiled. “At least now you can say you’ve slept with me.”

  Hardy opened the door, slowly shaking his head. “Sleeping isn’t exactly on a man’s mind when he uses that term.” He put a hand on her back and escorted her out of the room. “But you’re welcome.” A moment passed. “It truly was…my pleasure.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 11: Sold

  February 15th; 9:43 a.m.

  Hardy had exhausted his first seven bids, but someone, somewhere in the world, put forth a higher number. He glanced at Cruz. Screw this. I’m done messing around. He jumped to his tenth and final bid. A collective gasp filled the room. One man cursed, while another grabbed the arm of his female companion, and the two stormed out of the Great Room. One by one, the other couples walked away. A voice was heard through the secured Internet connection.

  “Going once…going twice…sold to Mr. James Diamond for $62,772,863.”

  Hardy pumped a fist. “Yes. Read ‘em and weep, baby.” He kissed Cruz. “We’re the winners, Elisa.”

  Cruz clapped her hands and hugged him. “I’m so happy for you, babe.”

  “Congratulations, Mr.
Diamond.” Isaac approached Hardy, hands clasped behind his back. “An interesting winning bid if I may say so.”

  “Yeah…well Isaac old boy, I like to make a statement when I go places.”

  The man’s nod concealed a grimace. “That you do indeed, sir.”

  Hardy held out a hand. “Now I’ll take my property please.”

  Isaac nodded. “All in good time; however, first we must complete the wire transfer, and verify the money is in my boss’s account.” He extended an arm. “If you’ll accompany me to my office, we can get started. The whole process should not take more than an hour.”

  … … … … …

  10:14 a.m.

  Washington, D.C.

  Less than a minute after getting Charity’s text message, Jameson hurried into the OR and took his seat. “What have we got? Talk to me.”

  On his left, Charity pecked away at her laptop. “Five minutes ago, the account set up for Hardy and Cruz went active. A large sum of money was transferred to another account.”

  “Where?”

  “I have no idea. These people are using severe security encryption, bouncing the transfer off dozens of servers around the world.”

  He leaned forward and clasped his hands. “Do we know where it originated from?”

  On Jameson’s right, Dahlia shook her head. “Same thing…the multiple servers are doing their job, hiding the source computer.”

  “So we’re not any closer to finding them, but we know the auction has taken place, and that Hardy and Cruz must have won it.”

  Dahlia nodded. “That’s right.”

  Charity stood, rushed to the island and feverishly tapped the screen.

  “All right,” said the director, “let’s use what we know to figure out what we don’t.”

  Dahlia faced her boss. “Have you heard anything from your contact?”

  “Nothing yet, but,” he flipped his wrist, “I’m expecting a call from him soon, telling me something one way or the other.”

  “We’re almost out of time.”

  Jameson eyed his daughter, aware of the President’s deadline. “I know.”

  “Once that time passes, all the alphabet soups will be looking for the software and the man who made it. If Hardy and Cruz aren’t back by then…”

  “I realize that, Dahlia. I realize that.” He stared at the monitors and saw Charity manipulating numbers and letters. “What are you doing, Cherry?” To him, it looked as if she was taking a break and playing a word game or a jumble.

  “Something struck me,” she rearranged letters and numbers, “as odd about the…bid.”

  Dahlia spun toward her teammate. “What do you mean?”

  Charity held up an open hand toward a monitor. “Look at that number. Why would he bid that number? Why not sixty-two million or sixty-two-five? Why $62,772,863?

  Jameson got up and stood in front of the screen on which the numbers and letters were being maneuvered. He put hands on hips. “He’s trying to send us a message.”

  Charity’s fingers danced over the island. “That’s what I’m thinking too. But what message? That’s only eight digits. What can he do with eight numbers? If he’s using a code, we’d have to know the cipher.”

  Dahlia joined her father. “What if he’s using something we already know? I mean come on…it’s Hardy we’re talking about. He’s not a computer geek—no offense, Cherry. He’s not going to use anything complicated.”

  Jameson twisted his upper body toward his IT specialist. “Have you tried matching the numbers to the letters of the alphabet?”

  “Yup,” Charity pointed at a second monitor, “that’s what I got.” The screen showed the letters F-B-G-G-B-H-F-C.

  Dahlia wrinkled her nose. “What does that even mean? There aren’t any vowels, so it can’t be a word.”

  “I’m running those letters—every possible combination—forward and backward, against every possible symbol, meaning,” Charity raised her hands, “everything…and still no hits.”

  Jameson’s phone buzzed. “I need to take this.” He fast walked out of the room, calling out over his shoulder. “Keep working on it. I’ll be right back.” He put the phone to his ear. “Jameson.”

  Leaning on the island, her hands spread wide, Dahlia stood next to Charity. “I still say we have to keep it simple. He’s got no phone, no Internet…nothing.” She pointed, “Only those eight numbers. How can he call, contact us or send us a message with only eight numbers?”

  Charity stopped tapping the screen, her hands hovering above the island. She gaped at the screen in front of her, a blank look on her face. Call us. How can he call us? She wagged a finger toward the woman at her side. “You have your cell on you?”

  “What?”

  “Your cell phone,” Charity flapped a hand, “give it to me.”

  Dahlia reached into her jean pocket and complied.

  Charity accessed the phone’s dialer and set the device in front of her. Looking back and forth from the mobile screen to her island keyboard, she exchanged the numbers for letters and entered the letters into an algorithm.

  “What are you—”

  Charity’s hand shot up, “Shh.”

  A few minutes later, different letter combinations were coming up on the monitors. Most made no apparent sense. Charity walked to a monitor and pointed. “That one there.” She darted back to the island and brought up a map.

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 12: NASSAUNE

  10:39 a.m.

  Hardy and Cruz sat in straight back chairs, facing Isaac’s desk. The man worked his computer, occasionally shooting reassuring glances at them, telling the two that everything was going well.

  Examining a life-sized knight’s suit of armor, Hardy shifted in his seat and tapped the tip of a sword.

  “I must ask you to refrain from touching that, sir.”

  Hardy eyed Isaac.

  “That is real sixteenth-century armor.” The man paused. “As such, it was very expensive.”

  Hardy sat back. “So you’re a collector?”

  “I’m fascinated with all things related to the Middle Ages.”

  Hardy shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat, I guess. So can we at least have a look at the software disk…or USB drive…or whatever it’s stored on? I’m kind of anxious to find out what sixty-two mil buys these days.”

  Isaac stopped typing. “The program is not actually here…on the premises.”

  Hardy glanced at Cruz. “What?”

  “When you are taken back to where you started your journey, everything will be given to you at that time.”

  Hardy uncrossed his legs. “That’s not what I was led to believe.” He thumped a forefinger on the man’s desk. “I’ve paid you a lot of money, and I expect to have my property,” he showed a palm and stood, “in my hand before I leave this place.”

  Isaac stood and pumped his hands. “I assure you, Mr. Diamond, you will get everything in due time. Please be patient.” He motioned toward the computer. “The process is almost complete.”

  A knock came at the door, and one of the guards entered, rushed to Isaac’s side and whispered in the man’s ear.

  Isaac looked at the man. “Are you sure it’s that important?” He glimpsed Hardy and Cruz. “I’m with very important clients.” When the chisel-jawed man nodded his head, Isaac sighed and closed the laptop. “I’m extremely sorry for the interruption, Mr. Diamond, Miss Adams. I’m afraid there is a matter of utmost importance that needs my immediate attention. Please excuse me.” Isaac followed his bodyguard to the door.

  Hardy dropped into his chair and raised his voice. “More important than losing out on sixty-two million?”

  … … … … …

  Isaac stared at the laptop of one of his top computer gurus. “How is this possible?”

  Guru shook his head. “I ran it twice to make sure.” He pointed at the screen. “You know this software. You know what it can do. There’s no way this is wro
ng.”

  Barely able to take a full breath without being gagged by the man’s body odor, Isaac squinted at the overweight and sweaty man in his early thirties. Sweat stains on Guru’s white t-shirt confirmed what Isaac’s nose was telling him. “But you ran profiles yesterday. How did this get past you?”

  “Yesterday, I used our in-house program. It’s good, but it’s not the same as Trebuchet.”

  Inwardly, Isaac smiled every time he heard the name given to the software that Hardy had purchased. Although Isaac did not understand how the program worked exactly, he knew the premise. Much like a Middle Ages siege on a castle wall, Trebuchet relentlessly attacked a firewall until a hole opened, allowing access to data. His name for the algorithm was an ideal fit.

  Isaac turned around and shoved hands into pants pockets. How can this be happening? We’re so close to—he pivoted back, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you’re wrong about this, I’ll kill you myself.” He looked at the guard, who had provided the escort to Guru’s office. “Get me three more men, now.”

  … … … … …

  10:45 a.m.

  Washington, D.C.

  “We found something, sir.” Charity ran fingers through her long, dark hair before scratching her scalp. “We at least know where the haystack is now.”

  Jameson stowed his phone and eyed the woman. “Let’s have it. We need a win and we need it fast.”

  Dahlia regarded her father. “What’s going on?”

  He waved her off and rolled his hand at Charity. “Out with it.”

  “Dahlia brought up making a phone call, and that made me think of phones and the letters assigned to each num—”

  “Charity.” Eyebrows arched, Jameson cocked his head.

  “Sorry, sir. Long story short,” she aimed a laser pointer at a monitor, “we think this is Hardy’s message to us.”

  Jameson followed the laser dot to the letters N-A-S-S-A-U-N-E. “What’s Nassaune mean?”

  “Not Nassaune,” Dahlia scribbled on a piece of paper and slid the sheet toward her boss, “Nassau NE.”

  Jameson frowned, lips pursed. “Nassau, Bahamas…Northeast.” He jumped up and, “Cherry, bring up a map of the Bahamas,” hurried to a monitor.