On the other side of the street, a row of oleanders formed a loose hedge along the sidewalk. Sydney glanced back over her shoulder. The ruckus at SST was starting to come into view, but no one was looking her way. Cutting between the bushes, she walked down a plant-covered slope into the parking lot of another office building. A few scattered cars were parked in its spaces, and Sydney heaved a sigh of relief. If she had to, she could pretend one of the cars was hers and that she'd lost her keys somehow. But each passing second made the need for a cover story less likely, and at this new lower level, she was out of sight of everything but the helicopter.
I wonder where it is, she worried. If the aircraft had landed somewhere, she was safe. But if it was still circling . . .
“Took you long enough!” a loud voice said.
Sydney whipped around, only to find Noah grinning at her from inside his janitor's van, which was peeking out from behind a brick Dumpster enclosure.
“Hurry up,” he urged out the driver's window. “The chopper's not flying at the moment, and I'd like to get out of here.”
Sydney didn't need to be asked twice. Running to the van, she climbed in on the passenger side. Noah started the engine and began driving away, keeping the van's speed low to avoid attracting attention.
“I can't believe you waited!” she said.
“What did you think?” he asked. “That I was going to abandon you?”
Yes, actually.
But looking at him now, she didn't want to admit that. His whole face glowed with the thrill of a mission accomplished, and his body rocked back and forth as he drove, letting off excess steam.
“Was that a rush or what?” he exclaimed. “We make a serious team.”
Sydney shook her head, still trying to process this unexpected turn of events. “How did you even know which way I'd be leaving the building?”
Noah gave her an incredulous look. “You were stuck in the freight elevator. Where else were you going to come out? Not on the roof, that's for sure.”
The possibility that she might not get out at all apparently hadn't occurred to him—and she liked that, she realized. She liked that a lot.
“No . . .not the roof . . . ,” she murmured. “Obviously bad.”
Noah steered around a corner, putting a little more distance between them and SST.
“I am pumped!” he announced, slapping the steering wheel. “Nothing's better than pulling off something like that! Using your wits, your training . . .” He turned to her again, his eyes shining with excitement. “Admit it. Wasn't that the most fun you've had all week?”
Sydney's jaw dropped. She searched for the words to tell him how crazy he was, but somehow the outrage wouldn't come.
For the first time in days she felt back in control—strong, capable, powerful . . . not to mention smarter than the average thief. She and Noah had just faced the impossible and totally kicked its butt.
“Yes,” she said at last, feeling his satisfied grin spread to her face. “Today was the most fun by far.”
“Stick with me,” he advised her, winking. “I know what you need.”
“Let me see it,” Sydney demanded in the SD-6 elevator.
Noah handed over the portable hard drive they'd just stolen, and for the second time that day she held it in her hands. She studied the drive intently, willing its exterior to give up some clue to the importance of its data, but the beige plastic case was completely generic. Its only unique feature was a teensy blue dot on one side, as if an uncapped pen had bumped against it at some point. She licked her thumb and rubbed the plastic, but the mark was permanent.
“Impressive, isn't it?” Noah said, holding out his hand for it.
Sydney gave the drive back. She would have liked to be the one to carry the program triumphantly into Wilson's office. Except . . . should they really give it to Wilson?
“Noah?” she said, just as the elevator doors opened.
He walked into the small white transition room. “What?”
But she couldn't bring herself to tell him she'd been spying on her handler. She didn't have a good enough reason, and she hadn't seen one incriminating thing. Besides, if she'd wanted to talk about it, she should have brought it up before now.
“Nothing,” she said, stepping up to have her retinas scanned.
To Sydney's relief, Wilson was every bit as ecstatic as Noah had predicted, jumping out of his seat when he heard the news.
“I can't believe it!” he exclaimed. “You've got the program? Are you sure?”
“Right here,” Noah said proudly, handing over the hard drive.
Wilson took the drive in a state of amazement, barely glancing at its case. “I can't believe you just went in there and stole it! Why didn't you call me for backup?” This last was directed at Sydney.
Uh-oh. She shifted nervously in her sneakers, trying to think of a good answer. “We wanted to,” she began, “but—”
“Never mind. Doesn't matter,” Wilson interrupted. “I can't wait to get this to Graham for analysis.”
“I'll take it,” she offered quickly. It seemed she was off the hook—both for freelancing in the park and for her wild ride with Noah—but she wouldn't mind leaving her boss's office before he changed his mind. Besides, it would be fun to see Graham's face when he heard how they'd spanked SST.
“He's not in,” Wilson said. “I'll have to call him.”
“Oh.”
“You know what? I'm going to take this to Op-Tech myself and wait for him there,” Wilson said. “He's usually here in ten minutes, and I'm anxious to get started.”
“You want us to hang out?” Noah asked.
“No, go on home. Take a couple days off,” Wilson said. “You too, Sydney. You've earned it.”
“Really? You don't need me?” she asked, surprised. “You're sure?”
“Of course we need you,” he said with a smile, “but we'll muddle through until Wednesday.”
“And I'm not going back to SST either? I mean, just to be sure . . .”
Wilson laughed. “I'd give SST a wide berth if I were you, at least until we get this wrapped up.”
“Right. Okay, then,” she said, still stunned. If Wilson didn't watch out, she might actually get caught up in her classes.
Wilson started to step past her on his way to Op-Tech, then abruptly stopped. His eyes met hers and held them, as if he had something to say. She leaned toward him intently, willing him to spit it out. His hand patted her shoulder.
“I'm so proud of you, Sydney,” he said huskily. And then he strode off down the hall.
She stared after him, both amazed and touched. Just a few words, but they meant so much. All her unfounded suspicions vanished on a sigh. Wilson would never be able to say so, but he loved her like family; she'd just read it in his face. He'd never do anything to hurt her or SD-6.
“Ooh, teacher's pet!” Noah gave her a playful shove. “How come he's not proud of me?”
“Maybe because you're already so proud of yourself,” she suggested, shoving back.
“Watch it,” he said, assuming an exaggerated wrestling stance. “Because I can totally take you.”
“You wish. Pound for pound, I'd wipe the floor with you.”
“I'm waiting to see you try.”
Sydney did her best to stare him down, but the goofy look on Noah's face totally cracked her up.
“What's gotten into you?” she asked, laughing. “If you're not more careful, people might start believing you can actually stand me.”
He pursed his lips, thinking it over. “You're not completely intolerable.”
“That's it!” she exclaimed, barely able to keep from kissing him right there. “Let's settle this in the garage.”
12
“HI, GRAHAM,” SYDNEY SAID, peeking into his workroom Monday afternoon. SD-6's gadget genius was bent over a piece of circuitry, a soldering iron in one hand and a pair of bug-eyed magnifiers strapped around his head. “How's it going?”
“Sy
dney!” he said, jumping up. He did a shocked double take, then remembered the magnifiers, nearly burning his face with the soldering iron in his struggle to remove them. “I didn't expect to see you here today.”
“I know,” she said, smiling wryly. “Wilson finally gives me a day off, and I come in anyway. I just couldn't stand being out of the loop on this SST thing. The joke's on me, though, because Wilson's not even here.”
Graham seemed surprised. “He was here a few minutes ago.”
“Well, he's not in his office and I can't find him, so I thought I'd visit you.”
“Sure! Hey, have a seat.”
Equipment scattered everywhere as Graham dropped his soldering iron and dumped half a dozen things from his rolling chair onto the floor. He brushed the upholstery with his hand, trying to make it more presentable, then wheeled the chair toward Sydney.
“You don't have to go to so much trouble,” she murmured, embarrassed. She didn't even want to sit down, but the eager look on his face would have made it cruel not to. “I just wanted to ask how it went with the missile program. Is it as dangerous as we expected?”
Graham looked stunned. “You didn't hear?”
“Hear what?”
“That disk you guys brought me was garbage. I'm not blaming you,” he added quickly, reading the horrified look on her face. “Agent Hicks might have been confused about what got put in that safe. Or Vincent could have locked up a decoy. Or it's possible some kind of security pulse corrupted the data when you snatched it. . . .”
Graham leaned against his overflowing desk, his gaze focused on empty space. “Except that a pulse usually wipes clean, and I've never seen so much digital junk.”
“Are you certain?” Sydney asked disbelievingly. “It's not just encoded?”
“Huh?” His eyes snapped back to hers. “Oh, code. That's what we all thought at first. The thing is, I'm pretty good at code. Not that I'm bragging, but—”
Sydney had stopped listening. Her stomach felt like it was back on top of that freight elevator.
“This is a nightmare!” she cried. “You don't know what we went through to get that thing. We can't go back there, and even if we could, the software's been moved by now. The program, all the data . . . Owen's not stupid. We may never find it again.”
“No, Owen Vincent isn't stupid,” Graham agreed, ignoring everything else she'd just said. “You know, for a while I thought that data was some kind of worm, and if I could just grab one end of it, the program would unravel like a sweater.”
Worms? Sweaters?
“Huh?”
“Did you ever see that Stephen King movie? Everyone thinks Jack Nicholson's writing a play, but really he's just in his room typing page after page of ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.'” Graham paused, wrinkling his brow. “I think that's what he was typing. Anyhow, the point is, there was never a play to begin with—only a bunch of garbage. I thought maybe if I could crack into your disk at just the right place, all that data might line up somehow. It could be a repetitive string. Something like ‘Not hiring Graham Flinkman was the biggest mistake of my career.'”
“Yes, I'm sure that's what it would say.” Sydney forced a fleeting smile. “Can I see it?”
“See what?” he asked, confused. “There's nothing to see. I was just—”
“I mean the hard drive we stole. What happened to it?”
“Oh. It's around here somewhere,” he said, turning to dig through a pile of components. “Wilson wanted me to lock it up when I finished, but, well . . . there's no rush now.” Graham located the device at last and handed it to Sydney.
“Sorry,” he said sympathetically. “Better luck next time.”
“Thanks.”
She gazed down at the hard drive in her hands, not even sure why she'd asked to see it. It was just so disappointing to risk so much and have it be for nothing. For all she knew, the real software had already been sold, and SD-6 wouldn't find out who'd bought it until missiles started hitting the wrong targets. She blinked hard against frustrated tears, the drive swimming in and out of focus. She hated its bland plastic case, its complete lack of any identifying—
“Hey!” she said, suddenly. “Hey, this is the wrong drive!”
Graham shook his head. “That's the one Wilson gave me.”
“No, it isn't.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No! Because the one I gave him—”
Sydney cut herself off in midsentence, unsure whether to continue. Should she tell Graham about the blue mark? Because the case in her hands didn't have one.
This is not the drive I gave Wilson! She had never been more certain of anything, and her mind reeled to think what it meant. The only reasonable conclusion was that the device she'd stolen was someplace else—and that it had made its disappearance after she'd entrusted it to her boss.
Graham was staring at her, waiting for her to continue.
“Oh, wait. This is it,” she said sheepishly. “My mistake.”
Graham smiled, relieved, and took it back.
“I'd better get going,” she said, standing up. “I'm meeting someone for dinner soon.”
“Okay. See you Wednesday.”
“Yes. Wednesday.”
Sydney headed for the elevator, still in shock. She regretted lying to Graham, but she felt sure she'd done the right thing. If she couldn't even trust her own handler, how could she trust some guy she barely knew?
How can I trust anyone?
Sydney drove out of the SD-6 parking garage and onto the busy downtown street without a destination in mind. She had been so excited about seeing Wilson and hearing him tell her again what a great job she'd done. That the disk would turn out to be useless was the last thing she'd expected.
Because it wasn't useless, she thought. Why else would it have disappeared?
Her head ached with possibilities, none of them good. She navigated traffic in a daze, barely seeing the other cars.
This is the worst. And I can't believe I have to meet my dad in an hour!
She had actually been happy about it when he'd called earlier that day, inviting her to dinner. But, as usual, his timing had proved to be awful. She was already dressed for the restaurant, having planned to head there straight from her visit with Wilson, but she'd left before she'd expected and it was too early to go there now.
I'll just drive around. Kill some time.
She certainly had plenty to think about, and it wouldn't hurt to compose herself before she met her father. But it wasn't long before she realized she was headed straight for the house in the suburbs she'd followed Wilson to before. Whether or not the house was his, it was the only place she knew to look. And if she found him there . . .
Why not? she thought, perking up. Why not just ask him what happened to the hard drive? There's probably some perfectly good explanation.
She relaxed in her seat, feeling better already. Wilson would explain, she'd have dinner with her father, and tomorrow she'd catch up on the rest of her schoolwork.
Everything was going to be fine.
But before she was cruising the final blocks, she'd started worrying again. If she did find Wilson, he'd want to know how she'd done it. And if she didn't . . .
Up ahead, at the intersection, a black SUV passed from left to right. Sydney's heart raced as she recognized her boss in the driver's seat. She held her breath, willing him not to look her way. . . .
He didn't.
Here we go, she thought, making a right turn. Freelancing: The Sequel.
Dusk was lengthening the shadows as Sydney followed Wilson into downtown Hollywood. Some cars had turned on their headlights, but most continued without them. Traffic snarled to a crawl, moving bumper to bumper. Trailing a block behind the SUV, terrified of being seen, Sydney welcomed the increased cover.
Where is he going? she wondered as they passed the heart of the tourist district and headed into less upscale surroundings.
Seedy bars and clubs were thic
k on both sides of the street before Wilson finally pulled to the curb and started feeding a parking meter.
Sydney cranked her steering wheel hard to the right, driving into an alley. Locking up her Mustang, praying it would still be there when she got back, she pulled on her black blazer and hurried to follow Wilson.
She didn't spot him right away, and for a moment, she nearly panicked. People streamed in and out of a dozen doorways, wandering from bar to bar. Wilson could have walked into any of them, and she didn't even have her SD-6 fake ID. Then a man caught her eye a block farther on, making her weak with relief. Wilson was walking away from her down the sidewalk, a fast food bag in one hand.
When did he stop for dinner? she wondered, zeroing in on the white paper bag. If there's food in that bag, it has to be stone cold.
She followed cautiously, keeping one eye on the suspicious bag. Her black jacket and the gathering darkness made her feel a little safer, but she still dreaded the thought of his turning around. Wilson walked through a swath of light outside an open doorway, dodging a couple of times to avoid other pedestrians. Then, twenty feet into the darkness on the other side, his left hand flicked toward a trash can and came back empty.
The fast food bag was gone.
It's a drop!
Sydney's pulse pounded with the realization. Wilson hadn't driven all the way to Hollywood just to get rid of his trash. Ducking into a doorway, she let him walk on without her, her eyes riveted to the concrete trash receptacle by the side of the road.
And suddenly she remembered the homeless man in the park. If he was Wilson's contact, he could come along any second, pretending to scavenge for food. No one would look twice. In this neighborhood, no one would look once.
Without another thought, Sydney bolted forward. Snatching the bag from the trash, she opened its crumpled top and yanked out its contents—a portable hard drive like the one she'd stolen from SST, complete with a teensy blue dot.
No.
She stood immobilized, unable to process the information. Passersby flowed around her like water around a stone.
Father Figure Page 11
