Wired. Part 10

20.

The darkness was beginning to gradually give way to the coming dawn, and tiny flecks of water appeared on the windshield as the early morning drizzle that had been forecast arrived on schedule. In another month this same precipitation would result in snow flurries. Smith set the wipers to a ten second delay between strokes and waited for Desh to spell out his terms, the silence of the twilight drive broken only by the intermittent squeaking of the wiper blades.

"Pull off here," instructed Desh, pointing.

Smith raised his eyebrows. "A shortcut to your apartment?" he asked.

"No. It makes more sense for you to drop me at Griffin's apartment. I need to retrieve my clothes and watch," he explained. "Not to mention my SUV."

Smith said nothing but exited the highway as instructed, decelerating rapidly to a stop at the end of the long off-ramp. He glanced at the gas gauge and proposed they stop for fuel. Less than a minute later they pulled into a nearby gas station. While Smith began to fill the tank the gnawing in Desh's stomach reminded him just how hungry and thirsty he had become. He also realized that he didn't have his wallet with him and was forced to borrow ten dollars from the Black Ops officer, feeling slightly foolish.

Desh entered the store's mini-mart and pulled a 32-ounce bottle of water from the cooler and an orange juice for Smith, and then tore two bananas from a fresh bunch near the register, both for himself, and walked to the counter. The entire time he watched Smith attentively through the transparent storefront to make sure he didn't open the trunk and try to regain access to his weapons. He and Desh appeared to be on the same side, but that didn't mean Desh was prepared to trust him. Whatever was going on, and whoever could be believed, the stakes were very, very high, and he was determined to err on the side of paranoia.

A number of nagging questions still gnawed at him. If Kira Miller really did have some of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world in her pocket as Smith suggested, then why hadn't she had them use their influence to call off the manhunt? And how was it that she wasn't better protected? The beneficiaries of her therapy would have an enormous vested interest in her welfare and survival. If she died, so did their longevity. Even if she had refused bodyguards, they would have activated armies of guardian angels, staying in the shadows but ensuring that the Smiths of the world didn't get nearly as close to her as they had at the motel.

There was far more going on than Desh understood. He was convinced he was fumbling in the dark, feeling the elephant's trunk and being persuaded it was a snake. He needed to go back to basic principles. If he believed Kira Miller really had been able to optimize her intelligence, it wasn't much of a stretch to believe she had also successfully developed a longevity therapy. And if this were the case, than all bets were truly off. Smith portrayed himself as being on the side of the angels, and maybe this had largely been true in the past. But what about now, in this situation? What would Smith do if he really did have Kira in his grasp? And what about the people above him? Could Desh trust this group to do the right thing once they had her? Would they simply pry the secret from her and give it to the world? It would take but a single weak link for her to bribe herself to freedom or for someone to take her place. She was the key to unlimited power, and if only a single corrupt person was in the loop, he could obtain her secrets for himself, kill her, and disappear; potentially becoming even a bigger monster than she had been.

Desh believed that dangerous character traits such as megalomania, sadism, and sociopathy tended to be enriched in populations of people who had risen to positions of power and influence. This enrichment was even more p.r.o.nounced at the top of organizations such as the CIA and the military, to which people with these pathologies tended to gravitate preferentially. This was especially true of Black Operations divisions, which existed in the shadows and had little accountability. Not that there weren't plenty of good men high up in the chain of command of these organizations with a pa.s.sion for serving their country and doing what they thought was right. But all it took was one bad apple at or near the top, and Desh was convinced that with a lure this seductive the odds that one existed were almost a hundred percent. So even if Smith was a saint, turning Kira over to him and his agency could be a disaster.

As Desh walked slowly back to the car, completely oblivious to the drizzle hitting his face, he was. .h.i.t by a stark realization. If he really believed his own logic, there was only one way he could be absolutely certain the longevity therapy would be unveiled for the benefit all the people of the world: if he did so himself. It was a troubling thought. He had no wish to take matters into his own hands, but unless he could find a flaw in his logic it was a prospect he could not ignore.

A few minutes later they were back on the road. Smith took a sip of orange juice and turned to his pa.s.senger. "All right," he said. "We're refueled and I'll have you at Griffin's in less than an hour. So what do you want?" he asked bluntly.

Desh slowly chewed and swallowed a large piece of banana, organizing his thoughts. "First of all," he began. "I'm in charge. You and your men take orders from me." He scanned Smith's face with keen interest, watching for his reaction.

"Go on," said Smith noncommittally, sliding back the center console to reveal two cup holders and shoving his plastic orange juice container into the one nearest him.

"Secondly, kill the listening and homing devices immediately. The only thing these devices and your surveillance will accomplish is guarantee Kira Miller never tries to contact me again."

"They didn't stop her the first time," noted Smith.

Desh shook his head. "I know how she thinks," he said firmly. "The reports all say she's brilliant. And she is. But I know she's also something far more dangerous: she's savvy. And she doesn't make mistakes. She knows you'll try to use me to get to her and she'll be more careful than ever."

"We can track you in a way she can't detect."

"Really?" said Desh skeptically. "I wouldn't count on that if I were you. You're underestimating her. Trust me, she'd smell you if you were in the next galaxy. I don't think she'll come within a thousand miles of me now, knowing that I'm bait. But if she does and then catches your scent, she'll bolt and we'll never have another chance." He stared at Smith with an unwavering intensity. "I want your guarantee on this."

Smith paused in thought and then sighed resignedly. "Okay," he said finally, clearly not happy about it.

"Good. I'll continue my efforts to find her as I was tasked to do, since I don't think she'll come to me again. And Smith," he added, "I will call you in when I find her as per the original plan." He paused. "Just so you know, I also intend to continue working with Griffin. He's very good at what he does and my gut tells me he's a good man. It goes without saying that the no surveillance rule goes for Griffin and anyone else I'm working with as well," he added pointedly.

"Can he do an effective job for you without having a glimmer of what's really going on?"

"I think so, yes," said Desh. He popped the last piece of his first banana in his mouth, swallowed, and then chased it with a long drink of water.

"So now let's turn to point number three," said Desh. "I have to have full authority to capture her myself. I have the tranquilizer gun I borrowed from your colleague, and I can add other non-lethal weaponry to my a.r.s.enal. If I'm wrong and she does come after me again, I won't pa.s.s up the chance to take her down."

Smith frowned and looked unconvinced.

"Trust me," added Desh. "Your fountain keeper is in good hands. I'll only act if I think I have to. Otherwise, I'll call you in. And I won't use lethal force."

"It's not like I have a choice," muttered Smith. "If you're in a position to capture her and I'm not there, you're going to do whatever the h.e.l.l you want, regardless of what I agree to."

"I will take her alive. And I can't be bought. You'll just have to trust me."

Smith drained the last of the orange juice as he considered. "Okay," he said, shoving the empty juice container into the cup holder. "I'll agree to your conditions." He eyed Desh intently. "But I have one of my own. My men told me they discovered you had used the cell phone you had, ah a borrowed, to contact Jim Connelly. From now on, I'm your only contact. You agree not to contact Connelly again no matter what happens. We know there's a mole at USASOC. Calling the colonel plays right into Kira Miller's hands."

"Will you tell him it was you and your men who crashed the party tonight and fill him in on the longevity angle?"

Smith's expression turned to one of disbelief, as if Desh had lost his mind. "She's doubled the span of human life," he said emphatically. "There's no greater secret in the world. It's on a need to know basis. And Connelly still doesn't need to know." He frowned and shook his head. "If we don't keep this under wraps we could have dozens and dozens of factions all warring with each other trying to get their hands on her. You think this Op is a cl.u.s.terf.u.c.k nowa"" He raised his eyebrows and let the thought hang. "I'll tell him it was me at the motel, but that's where I'll stop."

Desh considered. "Agreed," he said. "We have an understanding."

Desh directed Smith to turn right. "I'll expect you to send me an e-mail message with the locations of all bugs and homing devices you've planted anywhere near me or anyone I'm working with."

Smith nodded.

"Oh, and check the list twice, will you," added Desh pointedly. "I wouldn't want you to accidentally forget any."

21.

David Desh stood in the parking lot of Griffin's apartment and waited for Smith to drive out of sight. Satisfied, he returned to where he had parked his Suburban and removed a sleek leather case from the pa.s.senger seat, which contained state-of-the-art bug detection equipment and an inch-thick sheaf of hundred-dollar bills, compressed tightly by a money clip. Connelly had provided a ridiculously large advance and Desh had withdrawn far more than just Griffin's retainer from the bank the previous morning. Case in hand, he quickly made his way back to Apartment 14 D. He had walked down this same hallway, and into an ambush, only the night before; yet it seemed like ages ago.

Griffin's apartment was unlocked and the giant was sprawled out on the floor right where he had been left, although he was now breathing more deeply and Desh guessed he could be awakened at any time. He carefully cut the plasticuff bracelet from around Griffin's wrist and tossed it into the kitchen trash along with the link Kira had removed the night before.

He removed the bug-detection equipment from the leather case and began a careful sweep of the apartment. Proficiency at detecting and removing listening devices was critical in the executive protection business. Fleming had the most advanced equipment made, which was out of the price range of all but the wealthiest private citizens. Desh found two wireless bugs and placed them in a soundproof container he pulled from the case. Smith had a.s.sured Desh he would kill all bugs immediately. Desh didn't believe him for an instant.

Desh changed into his own pants, pulled his cell phone from the pocket where it had spent the night, checked it for messages, and rearmed himself. He retrieved his windbreaker and zipped it over the gray sweatshirt to hide his shoulder holster. His shirt and undershirt had been cut from his body the night before and were ruined. He gathered them up, along with the sweatpants, and piled them nearby for later disposal.

This completed, Desh gently shook Griffin until he began to stir.

Griffin opened his eyes and appeared to be in a fog, struggling to make sense of the man standing before him. Finally, a name and a context must have swum into place to match the face. "David Desh?" he mumbled drunkenly in disbelief.

"Yeah. It's me. Time to wake up."

"Why am I on the floor?" he asked, confused.

"How do you feel?"

Griffin's brain hadn't quite finished rebooting and his responses were slow. "Great," he said at last, almost in surprise. "Never felt better."

Desh nodded. Kira Miller had a.s.sured him this would be the case and in this, at least, she hadn't lied.

While Griffin roused himself and finally got up, Desh made a pot of coffee. Several minutes later Griffin joined Desh at his kitchen table, sipping the coffee gratefully.

"You had a visitor last night," began Desh. "Do you remember anything about it?"

Griffin searched his mind but finally shook his head in frustration. "Not a thing."

"It was Kira Miller."

"Kira Miller!" repeated Griffin in alarm.

"Don't worry. She just knocked you out and left. She used a benign drug. You'll be fine. And she won't trouble you again, I guarantee it."

"What did she want?"

"Me."

Griffin looked at Desh as if seeing him for the first time. "You really look like h.e.l.l, you know that?"

Desh smiled weakly. Given that he was sleep deprived, unshaven, uncombed, and had spent part of the night inside the trunk of a car, he didn't doubt it. "Thanks. I feel like h.e.l.l too."

"What happened to you? And what are you doing here now?" Griffin scratched his head. "For that matter, if she was after you, why knock me out?"

"I'd love to answer all of your questions, Matt, but I really can't." He held out his hands helplessly.

"Look, David, this secrecy c.r.a.p has to go. My apartment was broken into and I was knocked out. I'm up to my a.s.s in this. I need to know what's going on."

Desh sighed. "You make a good point," he said. "Maybe at some point I'll tell you everything, but not right now. There's too much going on and I don't know who to trust. It's better for both of us if you don't know any more than you do already."

"Then find yourself another hacker," snapped Griffin.

"I don't blame you for being angry," said Desh sympathetically. "A known psychopath and murderer has attacked you, and you want to know what you've gotten yourself into. But I'm asking you to trust me. Eventually, I'll tell you everything." He paused. "And I'll throw in a fifty percent bonus as hazard pay for what you've already gone through."

"You can't spend money when you're dead," noted Griffin, unimpressed.

"I'll see to your safety," Desh a.s.sured him. "This was a one time thing. It won't happen again."

Griffin eyed him skeptically but finally nodded. "Okaya"for now at least," he added cautiously.

"Good. Now that that's settled," said Desh, changing the subject rapidly so Griffin wouldn't have time to reconsider, "I want you to find everything there is to know about Kira Miller. If it's accessible by computer, I want it. School records, guidance counselor notes, scholarly articles, books she buys onlinea"h.e.l.l for that matter anything she buys online, from perfume to paperclips. I told you about the two teachers from Middlebrook, her high school alma matter. One was murdered and the other went missing about sixteen years or so ago. Find anything you can about this. Newspaper articles, police reports; everything. I want to build as complete a profile of her as is humanly possible."

Griffin studied him carefully. "All right," he said reluctantly. "As long as we're still trying to find a ma.s.s murderer, I'm willing to take some personal risk. But this had better not veer off into questionable territory," he warned. He pointed to the plaque on his desk. "Remember, I use my skills for good only."

"And that's what I like about you, Matt," said Desh smoothly. He sighed. "While you're working on this a.s.signment, do you mind if I crash on your couch? I'm exhausted. The prospect of driving home right now without any sleep is looking pretty bleak."

"Mi sofa es su sofa," responded Griffin, his amiable self once again.

"Thanks," said Desh gratefully. He laid down on the couch and closed his eyes.

Desh re-opened his eyes with a start to find the ma.s.sive figure of Matt Griffin standing over him, shaking him roughly with an anxious but irate expression. Desh glanced at his watch. He had been sleeping for almost two hours! Incredible. He had closed his eyes just an instant before. He was still tired, but this period of concentrated sleep would be enough to allow him to operate at a high level for the rest of the day, if necessary.

"What?" mumbled Desh worriedly as the rage on Griffin's face began to register.

Griffin thrust a sc.r.a.p of paper in front of his eyes. ARE WE BEING BUGGED?

"No," said Desh aloud, shaking his head "We were, but I cleared them. Why? What's going on?"

Griffin handed him a piece of paper. "You got an e-mail from Kira Miller," he snapped.

Desh bolted upright, now fully awake.

"Read it and tell me what the h.e.l.l is going on!" barked Griffin angrily.

Desh's heart pounded furiously as he turned to the message.

From: xc86vzi To: Matt Griffin Re: Urgent! For David Desh Matt Griffin: David probably removed any bugs from your apartment, but remain silent about this message and a.s.sume you're being bugged until he indicates otherwise. Please give this message to David immediately.

David Desh: I bugged the sweatpants I provided to you as a precautionary measure. Once again, I'm sorry about the invasion of privacy. I modified the bug to make it undetectable by your equipment (Impossiblea"I know). I just finished listening to the record of your conversations with Connelly and Smith that were forwarded to my computer.

Desh stifled a curse and clenched his teeth in fury. She was always one step ahead of him! She had correctly named the two people he had spoken with during the night, which meant she wasn't bluffing. He was being outsmarted at every turn. He retrieved the sweatpants he had worn the night before, opened the door, and threw them as far down the hallway as he could manage. Griffin watched him angrily, not saying a word.

Desh was furious with himself, but forced his focus back to the e-mail message, knowing that self-recrimination would have to wait. He continued reading: We need to finish our discussion. I have precious little time now to provide details (I was planning to last night) but a batch of the gellcaps I told you about were stolen years ago. There is another enhanced human at large (or "golden goose" to use Smith's terminology). He is the one who is ruthless and has powerful people in his pocket, not me. He is also the one behind the effort to find me. It is critical that he be stopped.

Smith is lying to you: the rival who stole my treatment is behind the Ebola plot, not me.

I know you don't trust me, but trust this: Jim Connelly won't live out the day if you don't act. You need to warn him and then bring him fully up to speed. You called him and raised his suspicions and he's in a powerful position to pry and make life uncomfortable for the true psychopaths here. Like you, he is a man who can't be bought, so they will kill him to prevent him from learning the truth. Don't trust me, but please err on the side of caution. Stakes this high bring out the aberrant personality types we spoke of like moths to a flame.

They will kill you as soon as they come to believe you won't lead them to me. They will clean up behind you as well, which means killing Matt Griffin the first chance they get.

Good luck Kira Miller Desh looked up from the message in alarm and immediately was met by Griffin's icy stare. "Can you tell me what the h.e.l.l I've gotten myself into!" he demanded. "Ebola plot! What the h.e.l.l does that mean? She says some group out there plans to kill you and me both. You said I'd be safe. It sure doesn't sound that way!" he spat.

"Okay, Matt, no more secrets," said Desh, his voice calm. "You're far more involved than I ever expected you to be, and for that I am truly sorry. You deserve the truth. But I need to think through the implications of this e-mail first. How securely was it sent? Could it have been intercepted?"

"No way. She's as good as it gets and my computer is a fortress."

Desh nodded, not surprised. As usual, she was careful and smart. But was the message simply another of her manipulations? Desh was getting awfully tired of being a p.a.w.n in a game for which he didn't know either the rules or the players.

He made a snap decision. Whether Kira had her own nemesis or not was something he could consider at a later time. But her logic was sound and his gut told him to take her warning about Connelly very seriously. Jim Connelly was a good man and Desh agreed that he couldn't be bought. But the jury was still out on Smith.

Desh was annoyed with himself that even in his current paranoid mindset he had failed to at least consider the possibility that Connelly's digging would make him a target. If Desh was going to survive this mess he would have to do better.

"Do you have a car?" asked Desh.

"Why does that question make me nervous?" answered Griffin guardedly.

"Connelly could be in someone's crosshairs even as we speak. We need to get him in motion immediately and set up a meeting with him so I can bring him up to speed. We can't risk taking my SUV. I'll tell you everything I know on the way."

"This woman is a psychopathic killer. Why would you even consider following her advice?"