“We’ll do what we have to. Right now, we wait and see what his next move is.” She was right, but Josh didn’t like sitting still and she could tell. He looked at the screen with the AIM program still running. In the intensity of trying to track him and messaging back and forth, he had momentarily lost the sense of danger, of urgency, even of fear. Being absorbed, he had forgotten for a moment that this man wanted him and his sister dead. Now it rushed back and Josh felt weak, knees shaky. He didn’t want Rigas to see it, but was sure she did. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face until the feeling subsided. She pretended to watch T.V.
* * *
Past midnight in New York, Murello sat in the apartment with a clear mind. Maybe the woman was a private investigator, maybe not. Either way, he was certain enough there was no major investigation going on by law enforcement. But it threw him when Barnes mentioned the Benjamin Fund. Murello owned that entity and used it for making a variety of investments. He was confident no one would be able to crack the series of shells he had created to hide any connection between it and the Catalyst Fund or himself. But it was a very bad sign that Barnes had even made the connection in theory. There was no question now what had to happen. He would go with his original plan; get the Ventrica and kill Josh and his sister. The bodyguard/cop too. He’d given Barnes enough hope there would be a meeting. Barnes would be racking his brain for ways to track Murello down. The next communication would be critical to Barnes because it would help him narrow down his search field. He knew by now Murello was in the city; next he’d try to pinpoint a location. Murello wondered what other information Barnes had gotten from Helen that might lead to him. Helen couldn’t have backtracked to Murello, but she did have indirect contact. Old email addresses, wire transfers, cell calls – all should be untraceable, as Murello had set them up to be. But Barnes was skilled and would put these safeguards to the test. Murello either had to increase the safeguards until he handled Barnes or bring this to a close as fast as possible. He would also need some time with Barnes to find out what else he had discovered about Murello’s operation. He calculated the moves and came to a decision: speed was critical.
He pulled up the data log from the satellite images he had seen and the telephone call he’d heard part of earlier that evening when Barnes used the pay phone. Barnes had been speaking with his sister, clearly. That was the key. Murello plugged his cell phone into another slot on the laptop and dialed the number Barnes had been speaking to. It didn’t ring, just went directly to voicemail. That was good enough for what Murello needed. He tapped a few keys and got a list of twenty-three cell towers that had routed the call. He hung up and dialed again. Because cell calls bounce across dozens of different towers before reaching the intended receiving phone, the list could vary for each call though it would always include the tower nearest the receiving cell phone. Twenty-nine cell points appeared on the screen. Eleven overlapped with the first list. If the owner of the cell phone was in a large metropolitan area, it could take a dozen calls to narrow down the area, maybe more if the overlap was repeated for several calls, and even then the final leg of the call could be using any one of a dozen local towers near the receiving phone. In New York there were hundreds of these small access points, not really towers, just three-foot high antennae that routed calls for millions of people. But Murello’s third call narrowed the list down to one cell tower. That meant the owner of the phone was in a place with limited reception and only one accessible antenna. Murello did a reverse look-up and smiled for the first time that day. Gorman, California was a truck stop at the top of the Angeles Forest and had only one cell tower providing service to any phones within range.
Murello’s next call was to the pilot of the Gulfstream VII jet kept fueled and on the tarmac twenty-four hours a day at an airfield in southern Connecticut. Murello would be at the heliport in fifteen minutes and on the plane in forty-five. He told the pilot to file a flight plan for Southern California.
Chapter Thirty-two
It was getting late and still no word. Josh knew this wasn’t good. Maybe he had pushed too hard or Helen’s boss had known Josh was lying about the cops. Rigas insisted it was fine, they just needed to be patient. Josh wasn’t as sure. But sending another message would have been a mistake and they had to wait. It felt like what soldiers must experience before a battle; boredom and waiting, but knowing a fight was around the corner. He told Rigas to go home, he’d call her if anything happened during the night.
“No way, pal. We’re best friends until this guy gets in touch. Gimme a blanket and I’ll nap on the couch.”
Josh had been right about how comfortable she looked draped on a sofa, watching television. He didn’t argue with her, knowing it would be pointless. Fact is, he felt better having her around. Not just because she had a gun and a badge. He liked the idea of her sleeping under his roof. It was intimate in an odd sort of way. Even if he was in the bedroom at the other end of the house. She said she’d stay in the office even though the living room pull-out was more comfortable; so was Allison’s room or even the spare guest room. But she wanted to be near the phone in case Helen’s boss called in the middle of the night. Also, there was a small fridge in the office and earlier she had transferred a few beers from the kitchen. She was set for the night. It was after 11:00 p.m. and Josh needed some rest too. He brought a sheet, pillow, and blanket from the hall closet and started to make up the couch. She tried to shake him off with false exasperation as though she didn’t want to be pampered, but Josh pointed her to the chair at the desk until he’d put down the bedding and turned the couch into a reasonable facsimile of a comfortable place to sleep. He turned the lamp on the desk off and only the glow from the television threw light on them. Rigas got out of the chair and edged by Josh to get to the couch.
“I’ll bet you’d make a great wife,” she cracked, but it was a gentle ribbing and her voice was softer than before. Josh didn’t move out of her way immediately, and she stood just a few inches away, both of them next to the couch. The low light picked up the line of her cheeks and Josh thought he could see her eyes sparkling just a little. They stood for a long beat, neither one breaking the silence or making a move to get out of the way. Rigas knew this was foolish, right in the middle of everything that was going on. But letting go a little, not running to hide behind her badge, was something she knew she had to do. And she also knew she felt safe, and excited, and not out of control. Josh put his hand to her cheek, very gently. She broke his gaze for just a moment to look at the angry scar around his neck and thought about what he had been through. She didn’t move, but didn’t stop him. Josh very lightly stroked her cheek with his fingertips. His hand slowly slid forward and he wound his fingers in her hair as he gently pulled her forward and leaned in. He wasn’t thinking about the consequences or whether this made sense right now. They covered the small space separating them simultaneously, Rigas’ lips slightly parted and Josh holding her eyes with his own. They kissed long and slow, not tentatively, and pulled back only an inch after, pausing for a heartbeat. Then a second kiss, this one stronger and more intense, both of Josh’s hands now holding her. Josh could feel a momentum building, and he pulled back to look at Rigas. Her eyes were half open and the slight muss of her hair made him want to kiss her again. They had both dropped their hands to their sides. Rigas spoke first.
“Well.” She didn’t sound particularly surprised, or as though she had decided what was coming next. Josh smiled and echoed her, “yeah, well…”
The silence was heavy, but with expectation, not discomfort. Rigas broke it. “Get some sleep, buddy. We’ve probably got a full day tomorrow.” But she didn’t look away or try to hide the moment. Josh couldn’t believe he’d just kissed her, hard and deep, this cop who had saved his life once and tried to slap him once. And that he wanted to do it again.
“Yeah, some sleep. Good idea.” He said it with a smile as he stepped back and he saw in her look that she hadn’t just shut him down, only put t
he moment in perspective. Rigas kicked off her shoes, took her gun out of her shoulder holster and put it on the coffee table by the couch, and stretched out on top of the blanket. Josh stared at her for a minute, thinking she was about as different a woman as he had ever met – not someone he thought he would be finding himself feeling close to. She caught his stare and rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “You going to tuck me in now? G’night. I’ll come get you if the phone rings.”
Josh flicked off the office light and watched her settle in by the glow of the television screen. Home security. He left the office.
Rigas felt cozy, and more than a little excited. She also felt conflicted because technically Barnes was a witness in an investigation. But this wasn’t your ordinary case, and Barnes wasn’t your ordinary guy. She thought about what it would have felt like if she’d let it go further, the feel of the kiss still on her lips. She liked it and she liked how she’d let it happen. Not completely sure it was the right thing to do, she was very sure it was a step in the right direction. Letting down the guard, exorcising old ghosts. She dozed off to the flicker of David Letterman interviewing someone and a mix of images in her head; brothers, high school, the station house. And Barnes.
Josh took a quick rinse-off shower to help clear his head and think about what to do next. The thought of Rigas just down the hall made it hard to concentrate. He still felt the blood flowing in all the wrong places and he needed to get his head back into what he was facing. He started considering all variations depending on what Helen’s boss got back to them with. Why hadn’t he done so already? Called, emailed, whatever. Maybe there wasn’t any urgency to getting the Ventrica, or at least another day wouldn’t matter. Maybe he had more pressing murders and extortions. Or maybe he was on a plane heading here to torture Josh into telling him where the design was. No matter what the answer, there was nothing Josh could do now. Allison was still safe. A few hours of sleep would help. He had set the email program to start beeping if anything came in from the address Helen’s boss was using or if the AIM program suddenly became active. The volume was up high and he’d hear it across the silent house if anything came up. Getting in bed, exhausted, he drifted off to sleep with images of Rigas in his mind. Conflicting images, one of her holding a gun on him after shooting Helen and the other of her face as he pulled away from kissing her.
He was asleep a little while later and didn’t hear the soft padding of feet coming down the hall or see the shadow as Rigas stood in the doorway and looked at him. After a couple of minutes, the shadow was gone.
Chapter Thirty-three
Three hours later Josh was woken from a deep sleep by a familiar but unidentifiable sound. His eyes focused on the clock: 3:09 a.m. The sound had stopped, but then repeated. He immediately realized it was his cell phone, always set to vibrate because he couldn’t stand the loud rings or the simulated songs everyone used for ring tones. The reception was lousy at the house, but for some reason late at night calls would come through. Maybe because there were fewer people using the cell network. Maybe atmospherics; he didn’t know. The phone was vibrating against the hard wood of the nightstand by the bed and the noise was louder than a ring. The caller ID feature said the caller’s number was unavailable. It had to be George, calling at this hour. Josh flipped the phone open and croaked “George!” in a strained morning voice.
“Dr. Barnes,” said a mechanized voice, the caller’s identity hidden by a voice-distortion device, “I will trade your sister for the Ventrica. Bring a hard copy.”
“Who the hell is this? What are you talking about?” Josh knew she was safe, so this had to be Helen’s boss calling from New York. Obviously he knew who Josh was and had gotten the cell number. Josh wasn’t set up to try to track the call and he probably knew that. Josh had to clear his head and think. He could only play dumb for a minute, until he could go get Rigas and figure out what to do. Then he heard something that sucked the air out of his lungs.
“Josh. I’m sorry.” Allison’s voice. The mechanized voice came back on. “Dr. Barnes, you have one hour and fifteen minutes to get here.”
Josh couldn’t breath, couldn’t feel the phone in his hand. Somehow Helen’s boss had found George and Allison. He was there. Josh could only choke out one thought. “If you touch her, if you do anything…”
The voice on the phone cut him off. “George tells me you don’t know where the cabin is. I’m sending you a text message with instructions. I’m also monitoring your cell phone and your home lines. I will be able to track your movements. Come alone. If you make a call or stop anywhere or if I see anyone else in the car or anyone following you, your sister dies first. You have one hour and fourteen minutes.”
The static Josh heard in the background was suddenly gone and he knew Helen’s boss had hung up. He stared at the phone and starting shaking heavily, like the chills from a bad case of food poisoning. When the phone vibrated again a moment later with a text message and the directions to George’s cabin, Josh could barely feel it moving against his own convulsions. He knew there wasn’t time for this kind of panic, but he couldn’t help it. He quickly dressed and grabbed the car keys and by the time he headed toward the door he had sufficient control that the keys weren’t jangling enough to wake Rigas. Josh wanted to shake her, tell her what happened and get her help. But he believed what Helen’s boss said on the phone; if he’d found Allison then he had the resources to know if Josh disobeyed him. He believed this man would know if Josh made a call or brought anyone. As he headed to the door, Josh stopped as an image from earlier that evening came to mind. He tiptoed back to the office, careful not to wake Rigas who would have insisted she come along even if it meant riding in the trunk. She was sound asleep, the blanket half across her and dragging on the floor, her breathing heavy and regular. The T.V. was still on, but muted. By its light he could see she had added her cell phone/PDA device, keys, and assorted bills and coins to the pile on the coffee table. Next to the gun. Moving as silently as he could, bending slowly so his knees didn’t crackle or clothes rustle, Josh gently, quietly used two hands to lift the gun off the table. It didn’t make a sound. It was heavier than he’d expected. Careful not to touch the trigger – he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t accidentally discharge the gun – Josh carried it out like a birthday cake with candles lit. Once in the hallway he found the switch she’d flipped earlier and put the safety back on. It fit into the large pocket of his coat, though the weight felt like it was pulling his right side down. He opened the front door as carefully and quietly as he had three nights ago when coming home from the first horrifying encounter with Helen. The alarm was off. He made it to the car and rolled out the driveway before starting the engine. Five minutes later he was on the freeway heading to Gorman.
Chapter Thirty-four
An hour earlier, Murello had landed at an airstrip thirty miles north of Los Angeles. He piloted the helicopter waiting there himself. It took twelve minutes to get to Gorman and the infrared equipment on board found the cabin after one pass. He landed in a small clearing and the wind kicked up by the rotating blades pushed back the bushes and tree branches. To his left was a late-model BMW SUV that had been hidden behind some brush. No one had seen or heard the helicopter; it was a stealth model with sound suppression technology for the rotors. Even standing outside the cockpit with the blades at full speed, it would sound only like a rushing stream, with a slight thup-thup rhythm. Jet black and loaded with sensors and other telecommunication equipment, it was virtually undetectable.
Murello dialed George’s cell phone again using equipment on the helicopter. A digital display showed the result of the calculation the on-board computer had made, using data from the nearby cell tower and a communications satellite overhead. He was able to triangulate the location and create a map using this information and the data collected on the flyby revealing the cabin. It looked like a ten-minute walk. The phone call to George would have alerted him, but Murello wasn’t worried. He set out.
> Outside the cabin, George was in the middle of a dream about Budha, the Apocalypse, and a large chocolate milk shake. His phone buzzed angrily and the sound made its way into his dream as a horde of bees chased him around the Budha. He woke suddenly and grabbed the phone. The caller ID said Private Number. Seemed unlikely Josh had called; he’d know better than to call from a blocked phone. There were a few others who had this number, but they all knew their number had to be visible. Probably a random mistake. George smiled to himself at the thought. No such thing. He swung out of the hammock he’d strung between two large trees in what he liked to call his backyard and shook off the insulated sleeping bag. A quick check of the cabin from the outside to be sure Allison was sound asleep in the large master bedroom and he headed toward a cluster of trees a hundred yards away. Five minutes later he was lugging a large canvas case containing a hunting rifle with 500-yard scope, a mobile motion detector, night-vision goggles, and a flare gun. It was only a fraction of his arsenal, which was dispersed across several acres and carefully hidden, along with the permanent alarm equipment he’d embedded in the forest floor in a perimeter around the cabin. He’d disengaged the motion sensors while Allison was around so she wouldn’t trip it, but would reactivate it now. He was ready for whoever was on their way, whether it had anything to do with Allison or not. Coming around the corner of the cabin to the front porch George barely had time to think “Damn! I should have activated the motion sensors first,” after feeling a heavy, blunt object hit him behind the left ear and before slumping into unconsciousness. Murello took the canvas bag from George’s loosened grip and tossed it aside, then dragged him by the neck of his work shirt in the front door of the cabin.
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