Chapter Two
My cat, Tiger, was nowhere to be seen when I went into the house. I sent a querying ping from my implant and he answered that he was at the local pond with Elkor.
"Okay," I said, "Have a good time, guys."
Opening a field screen, I placed a call to Linda, who answered after three chimes without activating a similar screen and said, "I'll call you back. I have... company."
Not "I'm in a meeting," or "I'm busy at the moment." She'd used a slight pause to preface the emphasized word 'company' and she hadn't made a greeting or referred to me by name. I turned off my screen without comment.
Hm. Since Linda probably wasn't messing around with her sailor friend in her office, the word 'company' made it seem likely she had intelligence agency-type visitors.
Whatever. I made a fresh coffee and checked email, visited some of the newsgroups, and generally putzed around on the net for an hour or so before Linda's two-toned chimes sounded through my implant.
"Yes, milady," I answered, manifesting a field screen, "Here. Present. Yo. I trust you set some NIA types to chasing their tails? Or even better, chasing someone else's tails?"
In a rather dry tone, Linda said, "As it happens, I was discussing a matter involving interagency cooperation with members of the NIA when you called. You will now tell me exactly how you knew that, please."
"Nothing nefarious, Fearless Leader. Two of their people tailed me this afternoon. Andrea Rickman and Tony Pierce. I figured someone put them on me because there was concern about how you'd respond to something. Nobody got hurt, 'cept maybe their egos got dented."
Linda snickered, "That's nice, of course. You guessed right, Ed. Something's up. How would you feel about catching a bus to Dallas on Monday morning?"
"I'm far less than thrilled, milady. That would have to be about a twenty-hour ride."
"Twenty-four, actually. Your subject is a woman named Denise Leiter. She'll be leaving from Sarasota. You'll board in Spring Hill to quietly and circumspectly guard her during the trip and you'll hand her off to one of Phillip's people in Dallas. I've already taken the liberty of saving you the trouble of purchasing your bus ticket."
"Oh, lordy, you're just too damned kind to me, ma'am."
"Think nothing of it, sir. I've sent the email receipt to your datapad. Just print it and take it to the bus station. They'll verify by phone and write you a ticket."
"Yas'm. Think you could possibly tell me why I'm going to hound some poor woman all the way to Dallas?"
Laughing softly, Linda said, "Think 'shepherd,' not 'hound'. Miss Leiter worked for a Sarasota import firm until last Wednesday, when she confirmed her suspicions that the company was a front for an Arab intelligence agency. She complained of feeling sick before lunch, left work, and called the FBI. They picked her up and interviewed her, then turned her over to the National Intelligence Agency, who interviewed her at their offices and took her home afterward."
They did what?
I asked, "Uhm... 'Scuse me, lady, but you just said they took her home."
"That I did. Because that's what they did."
"Uh-huh. Well, they must have had their reasons, right?"
Linda looked at something on the left side of her screen, took a breath, and continued, "Following NIA instructions, Miss Leiter called in sick on Thursday and Friday, as well. Once certain info was independently confirmed, a search warrant was issued on Thursday evening and executed Friday morning that ended with several arrests, but two key men were unaccounted for. Both have since been identified as graduates of Libyan and Syrian terrorist training camps."
"Ow. Not good."
"Indeed. I've learned that when Leiter took her laundry to the washroom in the building's garage on Thursday afternoon, she saw two men rather roughly searching her car. She closed the washroom door and called the cops, but instead of sending officers, they forwarded her call to the NIA, per instructions. The NIA dispatched agents to her apartment building, but the NIA says there was some kind of mistake about her building's address and they didn't get there before the two guys who searched her car had finished searching her apartment and left the building."
"The NIA made an address mistake? After having driven her home? Now, why does that smell funny, milady?"
"Oh, but there's more of the same, sir. After sneaking back to her apartment to get a few things, Denise slipped out the garage entrance and down the block to a coffee shop, where she called a friend who picked her up. She's been hiding at a friend of the friend's house all weekend."
"Uh, huh. And somehow the NIA knows that, even though they couldn't find her apartment building. Interesting. She knew enough to spark a search warrant, but not enough to make them put her into mandatory protective custody? Let me hazard a wild guess, here; they're using her as bait."
Linda sighed, "Officially, she's listed as having panicked and evaded her intended protective custody. Ed, I received firm instructions -- backed by three federal agencies -- to stay the hell out of this matter and let her run."
"Three? Wow! You must be a real somebody, Fearless Leader! But since this isn't a matter involving 3rd World's interests, why would the NIA think you'd want into it?"
Her answer came after a short pause.
"Denise Leiter is my niece, Ed. My sister Reba's daughter. She's going to Texas to stay with my brother James."
Well, hell. No pressure, Ed. Just a close friend's family member, apparently in grave danger. On a damned bus, of all things. For twenty-four effing hours, no less. Wonderful.
I asked, "Linda, why don't I just quietly help her disappear and stash her somewhere for a while? Let the NIA use one of their own people as a decoy to draw the baddies out."
She sighed again and said, "A decoy wouldn't work. The bad guys we're worried about know Denise on sight from her office. Ed, I offered to... share our resources... to help find those two. I argued with Washington for four solid hours today and got nowhere. What does that tell you?"
"It tells me that something more than politics, money, or oil is involved. The feds deemed your niece to be more valuable as live bait than as an info source or a witness and top politicians are going along with them. That's a pretty extreme move for a pack of media-sensitive hyenas who exist primarily to cover their asses, bullshit the public and the press, and climb the ol' power ladder."
I paused and added, "Now add the fact that you're going along with their program, despite the fact that it could cost you a niece. That has to mean that the two missing men are vitally important, that they're likely very worried about what Denise may know, and that whatever was found when they executed that search warrant must have been amazingly nasty. Care to comment or maybe even enlighten me a bit more?"
I heard her sip from a cup and take a deep breath before she replied, "They found thirteen panel vans in an underground garage, Ed. The vans were packed with radioactive waste materials and high explosives. The bodies of thirty-one men were found in a refrigeration truck in the same garage. Our probes are searching all major cities for more of the same."
"Damn. Bet they were all homeless guys who thought they'd found a little work. Dirty bombs and suicide drivers. Cleanup from all that would take centuries, Linda, and cleanup would only work if the stuff didn't get into the food chain and water supply."
Linda sighed, "You seem to grasp the situation perfectly."
"Remember when you asked me how I felt about religion and I told you religions were little more than socially acceptable outlets for public insanity?"
"Yes."
"Well, I haven't changed my mind about that, ma'am. Post what you've got to my datapad and I'll pack a duffle."
"Stand by one... okay, I just sent everything I have."
"Anything to add? Personal comments?"
"Yes. Jack Miller of our Dallas office will meet the bus. He unofficially volunteered to be involved, Ed, even though there may be some repercussions later."
"He did? Well, then, I guess I'll just have to officially volunteer. For the record and all that. Can't let you two hang alone, ma'am."
She seemed to choke softly as she chuckled, "Gee, thanks for the thought," then she sobbed just as softly and said, "Ed, I truly hate to say this, but... Denise's safety is... ahh... secondary... to capturing anyone who may try to kidnap or... or terminate her. There may be more of those trucks."
Nodding, I replied, "Kinda figured that. Why don't I say 'over and out' now and go memorize some faces?"
She responded with a nod and, "Okay," and caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment before she said, "Ed... Thanks. That's all I can think to say."
"Linda, you've saved my ass a few times in one way or another. Now I get to return the favor. Bye."
Nodding, she said, "Bye," and her link closed.
I was reviewing her data a second time when the phone rang. My machine said, 'If you're someone I'd call back, leave a message' and beeped.
"Hi, Ed," said Alissa's voice, "Call me back when you..."
Picking up the phone, I said, "I'm here, Alissa. Long time, ma'am. What's up?"
After a moment of hesitation, she said, "Dan's gone. Our divorce was final on Wednesday. I've called Steve and..."
"Steve?" I interrupted.
"My boss at my old job. He said there'd be no problem. I can be back at work the day I arrive if I want."
Uh, huh. She either needed a place to crash or she wanted to buy her bike back. Or both.
"Got money?" I asked, "Got a place to stay when you get here? Got wheels?"
"Uh... Some, yes, and no, in that order. Dan got drunk and wrecked the car in March and I'll be on a shoestring budget for a while. Ed, do you still have my bike? Were you serious about renting me a room?"
Laughing shortly, I replied, "Yup. I was serious about all that stuff, ma'am."
"I... uh... I may not have enough money to... um... well, I may not be able to handle both the bike and rent."
"So buy the bike and do some housework to pay your rent. You've seen the place; it needs it. Or call it a loan and pay me later. Whatever works. Hey, I'm leaving for Texas soon and I may be out of town for a week or so. When are you coming back down here?"
In an almost questioning tone, she said, "May first. I think. If that's all right with you."
"Sure, it's all right with me. I'll be leaving nineteen April and I expect to be gone for a few days to a week, but I should be back in time to come pick you up. Hey, you weren't going to pay air fare to get down here, were you?"
"Uh, well... yes. Dan wrecked the car, remember?"
"But I have a flitter, remember? Save your money. When I get back from this trip I can come get you."
"Are you sure, Ed? It's a long way to Michigan."
"It's about half an hour by flitter, Alissa. Don't sweat it."
I could almost feel her blink and stare. "Half an hour?!"
"Yup. No problem. And it'll carry two tons, so bring whatever will fit the deck."
Clearly enunciating each word, she yelped, "Two tons?!"
After Alissa got over her shock, the conversation turned to who'd done what to whom for a time. We essentially decided that Dan was largely at fault for everything bad that had happened since the day of his birth, then our talk returned to moving considerations. By the time we hung up, Alissa sounded a lot more cheerful.
Cranking up a field screen for the internet, I checked to see how bids were coming along on a large bike windshield. No thrill; the bids had already exceeded what I thought the thing was worth. I killed the auction's bookmark and opened the VN750 Yahoo group.
Some guy named Carvey Parker had posted his 2003 Kawasaki Vulcan 750 for sale because he wanted to buy a Kawasaki Concours. And he was in Texas? And not only in Texas, but in the DFW area, where I just happened to be going? And Alissa had just called about coming back to Florida and reclaiming her bike? Was the universe trying to tell me something?
Parker's signature line in the message said, 'Pictures on my webpage at: http://www.carveyparker.com/vn750.htm '. I clicked the link and my browser kicked up the 'embedded music' icon in the 'blocked items' bar.
I read the bike's accessories list and stopped cold when I saw the line that said, 'ammo can saddlebags'. Ammo cans? Hm. Cute idea, but while generally weatherproof, the .223 and 7.62 ammo boxes usually available at surplus stores wouldn't really hold much for a road trip on a bike.
Clicking up a picture of the bike, I was startled to see the two godzilla green boxes he'd hung on it. They damned sure hadn't held .223 or 7.62 ammo. Maybe .50 caliber rounds?
Magnifying the picture a few times, I could barely make out '30mm' on one can's side. Well, holy shit, Batman! That's the ammo they use in A-10 tankbuster planes! Seventy-two of those big-assed rounds per box weighed about ninety pounds if I recalled correctly.
Yeah, those cans would do. I studied the pix and the offer for flaws, then emailed Parker. We emailed back and forth a few times -- I think he might have been wondering if I was serious or just crazy -- and settled on a price. When I got offline, I tossed my checkbook into my backpack with my instant coffee stash and toiletries kit.
Tiger came in while I was packing the duffle bag and I told him Linda was sending me to Texas. After he heard that I'd be many boring hours on a bus -- which he equated to a large car, I think -- he asked if he could stay home.
"Sure, Tiger. Hey, Alissa called today. She may be back here in a couple of weeks."
Short times such as days and hours weren't too much trouble for Tiger, but he seemed to have trouble envisioning more than a few days at a time. It's a cat thing, I guess, or maybe something common to most four-footed animals. They just don't grok some human concepts very easily.
He was enthusiastic about Alissa's return, but he sort of shrugged off the matter of the time factor and simply said he'd be very happy to see her.
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