by Amelia Autin
Stop! her dream self said. There was something wrong with the slide show memories. She knew it. She’d missed something. Something important. A small thing, but crucial.
She restarted the slide show from the beginning, examining each frame minutely. No, nothing wrong with the first one. Nor the next, nor the next, nor the next. Back up, her dream self said. Back up to right before the elevator. And then she knew.
Cody had locked his computer with his personal password. That was standard procedure in the agency—you logged on to the agency network with a password, and you locked your computer for security with that same password whenever you were going to be away from your desk. She’d done it herself right before going to pick up the printouts from the printer, the ones she was going to show Cody.
Password?
Callahan suddenly appeared in her dream, holding a blood-stained key in his hand. It sounded something like center or centaur, but I can’t swear to it.
Center...centaur... A computer password? Could it be that simple? If so, where was the computer? What did it have to do with the bloody key? And what about veni, vidi, vici? Cody had wondered if it was some kind of code, but that didn’t make sense. Tressler had to have known he was dying—why would he speak in code? The answer was right there, just out of reach. What had Callahan said?
He was a decent kid—stereotypical computer nerd, but likable nevertheless.... He was always playing those online war games. He didn’t say it, but I suspect he joined the militia for the thrill of it, thinking it was like one of his computer games. He just didn’t realize it wasn’t a game.
Online war games...
Veni, vidi, vici...
No, not a code...an online video game...
Chapter 18
Cody woke from an erotic dream of Keira. She was torturing him with her mouth and hands; her soft little moans of pleasure joined by the ragged sounds torn from his throat as she—
“Trace,” he heard Keira say in an urgent whisper. “Trace!”
No, that’s not right, Cody thought, disoriented for a moment. Keira was supposed to be calling his name, not her partner’s name. He sat up abruptly in the upper bunk, almost hitting his head on the ceiling before he realized where he was and that the woman of his dreams was kneeling beside the lower bunk bed, shaking McKinnon’s arm.
“Keira? What’s wrong?” McKinnon was instantly awake.
Cody slid lightly from the upper bunk to the floor, saying at the same time, “What the hell is going on?”
Startled, Keira caught her breath in a gasp that was loud in the quiet room. “Cody! I didn’t mean to wake you.” She was fully dressed.
“What time is it?” he asked her.
She wasn’t wearing her watch, but she said, “It’s early—maybe four-thirty?”
Cody grabbed his jeans from the back of the chair he’d laid them on last night and donned them hastily. As he zipped up, then turned on a lamp, he heard Keira say to Trace, “I have to ask you something. When you and Callahan searched Tressler’s cabin, did you find a computer?”
McKinnon shook his head. “We found a box for a laptop in the garage,” he said, “and there was a DSL line in his living room. But no laptop. That was one of the first things we checked.”
Keira tapped a fingernail on her teeth as she considered this. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t think so.”
“No what?” Cody asked.
“Callahan said Tressler was a gamer,” she explained. “Gamers usually prefer desktops because the graphics processors necessary for high-detail, high-resolution gaming are a lot more expensive in a laptop than a desktop. Not to mention the RAM. Tressler might have had a laptop for other uses—although I doubt it—but for gaming, I’m betting he had a desktop.”
“How do you know all that?” McKinnon asked.
Keira chuckled softly. “I don’t have four older brothers for nothing,” she replied. “Every one of them went through the video gaming phase.”
“Well, if Tressler had a desktop computer,” McKinnon maintained, “whoever killed him took it, because there wasn’t one.”
“Maybe.” Keira didn’t look convinced.
“What are you thinking?” Cody asked.
“I’m thinking about that key he gave Callahan,” she said, her eyes staring off into the distance. “I’m thinking about where a man would stash a computer he wanted to hide. A computer that contains a deadly secret.”
“Hide in plain sight?” said a deep voice from the doorway. Cody turned and saw Callahan standing there, his hair rumpled and looking as if he’d dressed hastily.
“Sorry,” Keira said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
This was said so perfunctorily Cody knew she didn’t really mean it. There was a repressed excitement about her that reminded him of the way she’d looked on Thursday, when she’d brought him the file folder of things she’d uncovered about Vishenko.
“I thought of something while I was sleeping,” she told Callahan now, her eyes giving her away. “I just wanted to ask Trace—”
“I heard,” Callahan said as he advanced into the room. “He’s right—we didn’t find a computer, but now that you mention it, I think that laptop was a red herring. I went through all of Steve’s papers, piece by piece, and found a receipt for that same type of laptop dated four days before he was murdered.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” McKinnon said with a frown.
“Four days?” Cody asked. “That was before he talked to you about the militia.”
“Yeah. But after he started acting strangely.” Callahan’s gaze transferred back to Keira. “I didn’t think about it at the time, but now...”
“Was there anyone he was particularly close to?” she asked urgently. “Someone he’d trust. Family, maybe, or a girlfriend?”
“No family, no girlfriend.” A speculative look crept into Callahan’s eyes. “But he was close to one person—Betsy Duggan.” He glanced at Cody. “Remember her?”
“Roland’s wife, Betsy?”
“Yeah. Roland passed away...must be close to three years ago now. Steve used to do yard work and plowing for her at a discounted rate—she’s close to seventy, you know, and doesn’t have any family around now that Roland’s gone. He didn’t leave her much other than the house outside Black Rock—she gets by on just her Social Security. Steve let her pay him a little to keep her pride, but I found out by accident just how little that actually was.” His gaze never wavered. “And she did things for him, too—mending, baking, stuff like that. Mandy once said Betsy treated Steve like an adopted grandson, and he acted like one to her.”
“Would he have a key to her house?” Cody asked.
Callahan nodded slowly, speculation morphing into a tiny smile, and his gaze turned back to Keira. “Betsy went to Palm Springs last month to visit her daughter. If she left a key with anyone...”
“I’ll bet you anything you want to name, the key he gave you is to her house.” Keira’s excitement was barely contained now, and she turned to Cody. “And unless whoever killed him figured it out, which I doubt, I’ll bet we’ll find his real computer there, too.” There was an expression on her face he was beginning to recognize—and it didn’t have anything to do with love. She stared up at him, and for an instant it was as if they were alone in the room—no Callahan, no McKinnon—just the two of them, and Keira’s excitement over solving the puzzle.
McKinnon broke into their fierce concentration on each other. “If we’re going to check it out, Keira,” he said. “I need my pants. Do you mind?”
She tore her gaze away from Cody and turned toward her partner. She smiled teasingly, picked up his jeans, and tossed them to him. “No, I don’t mind,” she said. “Go right ahead.”
When McKinnon made as if to maneuver his lanky frame out of the lower bunk to dress, Cody grasped Keira’s arm and hustled her toward the door, trying but failing miserably to suppress the sudden surge of possessiveness.
“Coffee,” he said, think
ing quickly. “I can go without breakfast, but not without coffee.” He figured Keira had no intention of staying there, but no way was he going to let her watch another man get dressed—especially not one as handsome as McKinnon.
Callahan stepped aside to let them exit. As Cody passed him he caught the wicked gleam in the other man’s eyes; he knew Callahan could read his thoughts and was enjoying his discomfort. A memory from another place and time flashed through his mind, and Cody realized Callahan was probably remembering the same thing—the two of them watching Mandy sleep six years ago, their hostility toward each other barely contained.
Keira was already halfway down the hall toward the kitchen, and far enough away so she wouldn’t hear him. “Don’t push it,” he muttered to Callahan, his eyes narrowing.
“Wouldn’t think of it,” Callahan said smoothly. “Coffee’s in the cabinet right above the coffeemaker.”
* * *
A half hour later all four of them were in Callahan’s four-by-four, heading down the unpaved driveway. Dawn was breaking, painting the eastern sky cloud layers baby-bunting pink and blue, but sunrise was still more than twenty minutes away when they pulled on to the highway leading to Black Rock.
Callahan had only driven a minute before Cody said quietly, “We’ve got company.”
“Yeah,” Callahan growled. “I see them, too. They were waiting for us.” He slowed down slightly, and the car behind them slowed also. Then he pressed down on the accelerator, picking up speed quickly, and the car behind them did the same, maintaining the same distance.
“Open tail,” Cody said. “They want us to know they’re back there. Fibbies.”
“Who else would utilize an open tail?” Callahan asked rhetorically.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t put it past the FBI to leave a crew on watch. Especially since Holmes knows the agency is involved. He doesn’t trust us.” Cody glanced over at Callahan. “For protection, you think? Or out of suspicion?”
“Protection.” Callahan laughed under his breath. “Otherwise, why the open tail?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I can’t shake them...not out here in the middle of nowhere—there just aren’t enough roads to turn on. But we don’t want them following us to Betsy’s house either.”
Cody thought for a moment. “Where’s the truck McKinnon was driving?”
“Back at the house, parked out of sight behind it. Why?” Callahan darted a glance toward Cody. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Cody laughed a little. “Probably.” We always were on the same wavelength, he told himself. That’s never changed, not in all these years.
He thought a moment. “Keep driving into town. Cruise around a little, like you’re showing us the lay of the land—they’ll suspect something if we don’t. Swing around the rim road, pick up the highway on the other side, and head back to your place. Then you and McKinnon can drive out again heading in the other direction to draw them off the scent, while Keira and I take the truck to Betsy’s house.”
When Callahan opened his mouth—to protest, Cody was sure—he added, “It’s the best chance we’ve got to search without company, and Keira knows what she’s looking for. Besides—” he slanted a sideways look at the other man “—technically you need a search warrant. I don’t.”
“Agency rules?” Callahan asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.
“Latitude,” Cody answered lightly. “If I were looking for evidence against Betsy I’d still need a warrant. But that’s not the case.” He saw Callahan’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “The world has changed,” he said softly in response to what the other man was thinking.
“I know. But I don’t have to like it. Makes me glad I’m a small town sheriff now. Most of the time, anyway. There’s something to be said for breaking up bar fights and arresting drunk drivers.”
“Ah, the good old days,” Cody said, agreeing with him.
“You ever miss it?” Callahan asked him. “You ever wish—” He stopped abruptly, as if he suddenly remembered the real reason Cody had left Black Rock.
All at once Cody realized Keira and McKinnon could hear their conversation. They had been quiet this whole time, but that didn’t mean they weren’t listening. “Yeah,” he said honestly. “I miss it sometimes. Denver’s different from Black Rock—nothing against Denver, but living in a small town, where you know everyone and everyone knows you, has its advantages. But there’s also a certain satisfaction working for the agency that I never got from being the sheriff here. It’s a trade-off.”
The sun was almost up when Callahan reached the center of town and circled slowly, weaving in and out of the town’s few side streets. When they passed the sheriff’s office, Cody was hit by a sense of nostalgia. He’d spent a lot of years as Black Rock’s sheriff. But then he glanced at the passenger side mirror. “They’re still back there,” he told Callahan quietly.
McKinnon spoke up. “They just want us to know they’re around. And that they’re not going away.” Then he chuckled. “It’ll be fun leading them on a wild-goose chase,” he told Cody, “while you and Keira accomplish our mission.”
* * *
Cody and Keira waited in the truck behind the house after Callahan and McKinnon had left. “Give me five minutes before you pull out,” Callahan had told them. “But don’t wait any longer than that. You don’t want to give them a chance to call up another team to tail the two of you, just in case they notice you’re not with us.”
Cody glanced at the clock on the dashboard, then put the truck into gear and slowly drove down the winding driveway toward the highway. Both he and Keira had their eyes peeled, but no vehicle appeared behind them or in front of them. Ten minutes later Cody turned into the driveway of Betsy Duggan’s house and drove all the way around the back so the truck couldn’t be seen from the road. “Stay here,” he told Keira, hopping out of the truck and making his way cautiously around the side of the house, peering out.
Nothing. No cars, no people, nothing. He waited a couple of minutes, but still nothing, so he headed back to the truck. Keira was waiting beside it, shielded behind the passenger door. Her hand was tucked inside her jacket, and Cody knew she’d been ready to draw her weapon if necessary. He signaled to her that he was going to try the key on the back door. She followed him, but backwards, eyes on the alert for any sign of the FBI or anyone else.
Cody slid the key into the back door’s lock and turned. “Bingo!” he whispered. He smiled triumphantly at Keira, and the returning smile on her face said, “I knew it!”
They slipped inside, Cody taking the lead. Keira stopped to lock the door behind them, and they made their way through the kitchen into the living room. Cody had no intention of turning on the lights—that would be a dead giveaway to anyone who knew Betsy was out of town—but after a minute their eyes adjusted, and they were able to see clearly in early morning gloom.
The living room furniture was old-fashioned but neat and tidy, with only a fine layer of dust showing that the owner had been absent for some weeks. In one corner of the room stood a large desk Cody remembered had belonged to Roland’s father. Roland had rarely used it, but it still had pride of place in the room. And on the desk stood a computer and monitor.
That’s it,” Keira said, walking quickly toward the corner.
“How can you be sure?”
Her gaze encompassed the computer. “This isn’t something you can buy just anywhere,” she said. “It’s top of the line.” She bent over and glanced behind the computer setup. “It’s plugged in, but there’s no DSL or anything connecting it to an ISP,” she added, referring to an internet service provider. “No one would have this computer without internet access. It’s got to be Tressler’s.”
She sat down at the keyboard, turned the computer on, and was immediately confronted by the need for a user password. As Cody watched, she typed C-e-n-t-a-u-r, but that didn’t work. Then she tried C-e-n-t-e-r, but no luck there, either. She tried again, this time a
ll lowercase, but again nothing. She made a face of frustration. “One of them has to be the password. Remember what Callahan said about Tressler’s last word? But even if one of them is the password, it could be any combination of caps and lowercase,” she told him. “Damn! I could sit here all day, but without a starting point...”
Something niggled at the back of Cody’s brain. Something Keira had just said; something about a starting point. “Wait,” he said, closing his eyes to concentrate, and Keira fell silent. Starting point. Starting point...
With Tressler dead we don’t even have a starting point.... He’d said that to Callahan. Now his mind was doing free association. Starting point. Tressler. Veni, vidi, vici...
He could hear Keira saying, The reference to Julius Caesar could mean anything—the Ides of March, Marc Antony, the Roman Legions, crossing the Rubicon. Even the month of July or William Shakespeare.... Did he say anything else?
Then as if Callahan were standing right next to him, he could hear the deep voice saying, One other word at the very end, but I couldn’t really understand him.... It sounded something like center or centaur, but I can’t swear to it.
Roman Legions. Center. “That’s it!” Excitement building, he leaned down over Keira’s shoulders and typed C-e-n-t-u-r-i-o-n. Pennington’s code name for him.
“And we’re in!” Keira exulted as the screen opened into a standard computer desktop. She looked up at Cody, admiration glowing in her face. She turned back to the computer screen, running the mouse pointer over the icons scattered across the desktop. Cody recognized links to the names of many of the most popular online video games, but Keira kept going. Then the mouse pointer stopped abruptly at a link near the bottom right of the screen.
Veni, Vidi, Vici.
“It’s an online video game,” Cody whispered, stunned.
