No Money Down

by Julie Moffett

“The prototype of an RFID microchip to be embedded in U.S. currency. Nickelward stole it.”

  Basia paused, the fork hovering near her mouth. “He did what?”

  I brought them up to date on what Elvis and I had discovered.

  Xavier whistled. “So, the dude takes off with the microchip, helps the counterfeiters print fake money with a fake copy of the prototype, spills his guts to Lexi and then splits?”

  Elvis nodded. “Lexi thinks he may have double-crossed the counterfeiters.”

  “But why?” Basia set her fork down. “That’s nuts.”

  I stabbed a piece of broccoli with my fork. “I’m only speculating, but I think he wanted the money to finish his project, but didn’t ever intend to actually sell out the U.S. government.”

  Basia narrowed her eyes at me. “And you came to this conclusion how?”

  I shrugged. “Intuition. Geek to geek. A gut feeling. He just didn’t seem like the devious type.”

  “Given your people skills, that’s not reassuring.”

  Elvis ate a piece of beef. “Doesn’t really matter. One way or the other, they’re on to him now. Hot Chips, the Secret Service and the counterfeiters. Everyone wants the prototype microchip.”

  I shoveled in some more food while Xavier retrieved four beers, popping the tops for us and handing them out. “You think it might be in that vacuum bag?”

  Elvis took a swig of his beer. “Not really. But the possibility has to be eliminated.”

  Basia opened a packet of soy sauce and sprinkled it on her rice. “Why can’t they just make a new prototype of this chip? What’s the big deal?”

  We all stared at her for a long moment.

  She lifted her hand. “What?”

  I sighed. “You can’t just remake a specialized microchip like that. It would have to be reconfigured, rebuilt and reorganized. It would cost millions of dollars, not to mention time. More importantly, the technique by which the chip is inserted into the bills, the manufacturing process, the entire scientific method would be compromised.”

  Elvis leaned back in his chair. “In fact, it may already be too late if you’re wrong about Nickelward, Lexi. It depends on what he’s already shown and told them.”

  “Yes, I suppose it does.”

  Basia waved a hand. “Okay, despite the fact that I’m in the company of persons with IQs in the rarified stratosphere, I do believe you are all overlooking something important.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

  “Which is, your involvement in this is over, Lexi. Finished. Finito. Done. He didn’t give you anything, tell you anything, or set up a rendezvous to pass you anything. The Secret Service has the pouch with the money, fake or real, and your duty as a kind person listening to the problems of a delusional scientist is officially over. Capish?”

  Elvis glanced at me. “She does have a point.”

  I sighed. “True. If we don’t find the microchip in the vacuum bag, I guess I can consider this whole mess no longer my problem. I just hope the Secret Service and whoever tossed our hotel room agrees.”

  “Let’s look now,” Basia suggested. “The anticipation is killing me.”

  We all pushed back from the table and Elvis took apart the vacuum, carefully unfastening the bag. Xavier cleared off the glass top of the coffee table while Elvis retrieved the magnet.

  I shook out the bag on the table. Elvis carefully examined the bag first, making sure we hadn’t left it stuck to the plastic. When he determined it clear, we all kneeled around the table, peering at the pile of dust and hair.

  Basia leaned forward, putting her hand on Xavier’s shoulder. I couldn’t help but notice the smile that crept across his face. “Won’t a magnet erase or ruin a microchip?” she asked him.

  Xavier shook his head. “Microchips are not magnetically encoded. If he finds it, it’ll be fine.”

  I held my breath while Elvis methodically searched the debris. After a couple of minutes, he set the magnet down. “It’s not here.”

  I leaned back against the couch half disappointed and half relieved. “Well, that’s that then.”

  Basia patted me on the arm. “Don’t look so glum, Lexi. All this means is that your part in this counterfeiting disaster is over. We can finally enjoy our vacation now. Hooray!”

  At that moment a knock sounded on the door. Startled, we all looked at each other. The knock sounded again.

  “Open up. It’s Agent Simmons from the U.S. Secret Service. I need to talk to Lexi Carmichael again.”

  Chapter Eight

  I jumped up. “Not again.”

  Elvis put a hand on my arm. “You know that guy?”

  I walked over to the door and peered out the peephole. Sure enough, Agent Simmons stood there as impassive as ever, with beefy biceps and dark sunglasses perched on his nose. I did note, however, that he had changed his clothes since Basia attacked him with her coffee cup.

  Sighing, I opened the door. “How did you know I was here?”

  “You’ve been under surveillance since you left the police station.”

  “Figures. What do you want?”

  “Can I come in?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Elvis. He nodded and I spread my arm out in a flourish. “Come right on in.”

  Agent Simmons nodded at Basia in greeting and then glanced at the coffee table. “Does anyone dust in this place?”

  I shrugged. “What’s up?”

  He pointed at Elvis and Xavier. “How much do they know?”

  I didn’t see the point or wisdom in lying. “At this point, they know it all. They carried me up here when I passed out after my conversation with Dr. Nickelward.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Because their involvement was minimal. When I felt better, we decided to stay overnight and watch some movies before going to bed.”

  Agent Simmons raised an eyebrow.

  My cheeks heated. “By ourselves. We went to bed by ourselves. Alone. Not with each other. I was on the couch.” I exchanged a glance with Basia and she grinned. “Anyway, the point is it wasn’t a big deal. This was before I’d even met you and heard about the situation with Dr. Nickelward.”

  I had started to talk too fast and too much, a clear signal I was nervous.

  “So, at any time, did they see the money in the pouch?” Agent Simmons asked me the question, but studied the twins’ expressions.

  Before I could answer, Elvis spoke up. “Lexi unzipped the pouch, dumped it and I pulled out a bill. I gave it a cursory glance and put it back. From my exceptionally brief examination, I concluded, erroneously, that the bill was genuine.”

  “Why do you say erroneously?”

  “Because I suspect that the involvement of the Secret Service means there is a plausible counterfeiting problem.”

  “Which Zimmerman are you?”

  Basia strode up to Agent Simmons. “How do you know he’s a Zimmerman?”

  “Secret Service, remember?”

  Elvis stepped around Basia. “I’m Elvis.”

  Agent Simmons jerked his head at Xavier. “So, did you also touch the bills?”

  “Nope.”

  “You both work for the NSA?”

  “We neither confirm nor deny that.”

  Agent Simmons sighed. “Of course.”

  Basia cheerfully raised her hand. “Would you like some coffee, Agent Simmons? This time in a cup and not on your shirt?”

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  I put my hands on the back of a chair. “Okay, so how can I help you? Why am I still under surveillance?”

  “We wanted to see if Dr. Nickelward would try and contact you again.”

  “He hasn’t.”

  “I know.”


  I sank down into the chair. “Look, I said I’d call you if he gets in touch with me again. I mean it. I’m a law-abiding citizen.” Remembering my hacking, I amended, “Most of the time.”

  “I’m not worried about that anymore.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s good, I guess. Why not?”

  “Because Dr. Nickelward is dead. His body was found on the beach about three miles from here.”

  Basia gasped. My mouth dropped open. I heard Elvis’s sharp inhale.

  My hands started shaking. “D-dead? Are you sure?”

  “I know a dead body when I see one.”

  “What happened?”

  “Someone sliced his throat so hard, his head almost fell off.”

  I covered my mouth, the bile rising in my throat. Elvis perched on the side of the chair, putting a hand on my shoulder.

  “What does Lexi have to do with that?” he asked Agent Simmons.

  “Miss Carmichael was the last known person to see Dr. Nickelward alive. She is going to have to be re-interviewed by the police. Likewise, the Secret Service and representatives of the Treasury Department will want to do another round of questioning with all of you.”

  “Am I a…a suspect?” I had to force the question from my mouth.

  Agent Simmons shook his head. “No. You’ve all been under surveillance. Time of death was about three hours ago. You’re all in the clear.”

  “You found him quickly then,” Xavier observed.

  “He hadn’t been hidden. He’d been tossed on the beach like a piece of trash.”

  The bile rose again and I swallowed a heave. Dr. Nickelward might have been a nutcase of sorts, but I didn’t think he, or anyone for that matter, deserved to have his life taken from him in such a brutal way.

  I managed to get to my feet, and Elvis put his arm around me, which was a good thing because I swayed a bit on my feet. “You want us to accompany you to the police station now?”

  “Not yet. I’ve got to get the team in place. I’ll send a couple of cruisers in a while. Be ready, okay?”

  “So, I’m not a suspect and am no longer under surveillance?”

  “No and no.” He turned and left the suite.

  “Oh. My. God. This is like the worst vacation ever.” Basia flopped down on the couch.

  Xavier sat beside her. “I imagine Dr. Nickelward would agree.”

  “That poor, poor man. How awful.”

  “I thought you intended to clock him with your water goblet.”

  “That was when he was alive and exhibiting psychotic behavior. But now he’s dead.”

  Elvis brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. “You okay?”

  “I’m not sure. A man I barely knew has just been murdered and somehow I feel responsible.”

  “Why do you feel responsible?”

  “Maybe if I had listened more attentively, offered better advice or, heck, even tap-danced naked on the bar, maybe he’d still be alive.”

  Elvis blinked in surprise.

  “I was joking about the tap dancing part,” I clarified.

  He cleared his throat. “Right. Anyway, you can’t possibly blame yourself. You know that.”

  “Intellectually, I know. Emotionally, it’s harder. I keep playing back every conversation, trying to figure out if he passed me some kind of subliminal message I missed.”

  “Nothing leaps to mind?”

  “Nada. I’ve got nothing.” I shivered, pulling Elvis’s sweater tighter around me.

  He rubbed my arms through the sweater. “Okay. Don’t worry, Lexi. It will work out.”

  “I know…ouch.”

  He stopped rubbing. “What’s wrong?”

  I massaged the spot on my arm he’d pressed while rubbing. “It’s nothing. I must have a bruise from where Dr. Nickelward grabbed me.”

  “Dr. Nickelward grabbed you?”

  “Well, yeah. Didn’t I mention that?”

  “Not specifically.

  “It was at the end of our conversation. He slid off the barstool, grabbed me by the arm and shook me, all while babbling that he was sorry, I held his life in his hands, and other random stuff.”

  Basia nodded. “Yeah, that’s when I started to come at him with my water goblet.”

  Elvis stared at me for a long moment, but I could tell his mind was somewhere other than in the room. Then he swore and grabbed at the sweater. He spun me around, tearing it off. I almost fell.

  “Jeez, Elvis. I was going to give it back. Honest. I could wash it first if you want.”

  He balled the sweater and tossed it to the floor. Without a word, he took a step toward me.

  I stepped back, my heart thumping. “Elvis? What has got into you?”

  “Give me your arm.”

  “What?”

  “Show me where Dr. Nickelward grabbed you.”

  “Look, it’s probably just a little bruise. No biggie. Jeez, the guy is dead.”

  He’d started to scare me. What was it about me that after men got to know me a little bit, they all went psycho?

  “Your arm, Lexi.”

  Slowly, I held out my arm. He took a half step behind me and poked the fleshy part of my arm about two inches down from my armpit.

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “Shit,” he replied.

  Alarm swept through me. “Shit what? It’s not that bad a bruise, is it? It doesn’t hurt much.”

  “It’s not a bruise, Lexi. He didn’t just grab you. He injected you.”

  I screeched, “He did what?”

  “I think he injected you with the chip.”

  I twisted around, trying to see my arm. “He injected me with a microchip? The microchip?” I hopped around, shrieking, “Get it out, get it out.”

  Elvis grabbed me by the shoulders. “Calm down, Lexi. You’re okay. It’s a microchip, not a spider. It’s not going to hurt you. I don’t think.”

  “You don’t think?”

  Basia ran over to me, giving me a hug. “It’s okay, Lexi. We’ll take it out.” She looked at Elvis. “Right?”

  “Not at this exact moment. It’s beneath the skin. I’m not a doctor. I can’t just dig it out.”

  Basia’s eyes widened. “But it could be dangerous. She passed out after he injected her. Oh, God, it wasn’t the wine he drugged. He drugged her with the microchip.”

  I’d started to hyperventilate and my pulse raced. “I’ve got a drugged microchip in me?”

  Elvis shook his head. “Calm down, all of you. It’s more likely the syringe contained not only the microchip but a mild sedative to ease the sting of the injection. Lexi must be super sensitive to have passed out from it.”

  “Of course I’m super sensitive. I was injected with a freaking microchip. Please, take it out. I don’t care how you do it.” I know I sounded one note short of hysterical, but we are who we are.

  Xavier patted me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Lexi. We’ll tell the Secret Service as soon as they get back. They’ll get it out.”

  I put a hand on my forehead, feeling faint. “Oh, God. I’ve been microchipped.”

  Elvis slipped my arms back into the sweater and I clutched the material to my throat. “Just hang tight, Lexi. It will come out soon.”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Basia jumped. “Wow. The Secret Service is fast. Good to see our tax dollars at work.”

  “Thank God.” I pushed past Basia, rushed to the door and yanked it open.

  A big bald guy dressed in jeans and a sports coat stood there. “Are you Lexi Carmichael?”

  “Yes. Are you the Secret Service?”

  He shook his head.

  “The police?�
��

  He shook his head again.

  “Okay, so who are you?”

  He pulled out a gun and pointed it at me. “Your worst nightmare. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Nine

  “You promise no one is going to hurt them?”

  I sat in the front seat of a beat-up pickup truck, my hands tied together in front of me with a pair of plastic handcuffs.

  “If you don’t cooperate, we’ll come back for them. At that point, they’ll have a lot more to worry about than getting out of those cuffs. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  I kept imagining the three of them, duct-taped across the mouth and cuffed to the only immovable thing in the room, the door of the balcony. Xavier had been shaking, Basia’s face as white as a sheet, and Elvis had been just really, really silent. Thank God, Big Guy hadn’t harmed them. Yet.

  Terror lodged in my throat, but I had to pull myself together and keep my wits. I kept thinking of Humphrey Nickelward with his head sliced off. There had to be a way to escape from my current predicament. The cabin seemed overly small, seeing as how my captor’s muscular body filled it. I scooted as far away from him as I could, practically hugging the passenger-side door, but he remained mere inches from me. His left hand held the gun on his lap while the right one steered the truck.

  “So, how come you got mixed up with Nickelward? You his girlfriend or something?”

  “Me? Ah, no. I fixed his computer.”

  “And in return, he gave you the microchip?”

  “Well, gave is not really the operative word here.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Where are we going?”

  “To a nice quiet place so we can have a little talk about the location of the microchip.”

  My terror increased tenfold. “H-how can you be so sure I have it?”

  He slid a sideways glance at me. “I tortured Nickelward before I killed him. He told me he gave it to you. I assure you, he did not lie to me. The truth was in his eyes.”

  I swallowed hard, my hands trembling. “Well, the location of the chip is not a simple matter.”

  The guy gripped the wheel and pressed the gun into my side until it hurt. “You think I’m stupid? You think just because I’m big, I’m dumb?”