Death of Secrets (3 page)

"Why would they smash up the computer?" Michael
asked. "Normally thieves would take something like that. Did you guys have
a lot of money in the room that they stole instead?"

She shook her head. "As far as I can tell, nothing at all
is missing. Though Colleen might have found something after I came down
here"

"I’m surprised you even came in to work after a night and
day like that. But what I can’t get over is that no one commits breaking and
entering for fun. Something must have been taken."

"I don’t know what it was, though, Michael. Seriously, I
don’t have much that’s valuable, but what there is was still there when I
left."

He eased back in his chair and closed his eyes. Kathy leaned
forward, peering at him. She tilted her head a bit. "What are you
thinking?"

"I’ve probably been in politics too long, is what I’m
thinking,"

"What do you mean? I thought you said this was your first
term in office."

Michael smiled at her. "Yeah, but I worked on other
people’s campaigns before I ran my own. Anyway, what I mean is that I’ve got
this crazy, paranoid thought forming up in my head that sounds like Watergate,
but not like the real world."

"Well, tell me." Kathy clutched his hand in hers and
stared at him, waiting.

"Let’s start with you telling me more about that flash
drive you got from the dead guy."

A blonde girl walked up behind Kathy and leaned over her
shoulder. "Lunch is over in five minutes Kathy, and I need you to cover
me."

Kathy grumbled. "I’ll tell you when I get off shift
tonight, Mike," she said, then stood up to follow her coworker back to the
back room.

***

The night had been murder. Great tips, but she was feeling run
off her feet when she got to the bar to pick up another tray of drinks. When
the bartender gave her a note, her first instinct was to get mad at Michael.
She’d told him she would talk to him after work…

But unfolding the piece of paper revealed a $100 bill and a
question in unfamiliar handwriting.

"About that flash drive…" read the note. Kathy worked
for tips, and as such she took a C-note seriously.

With a point from the bartender, she spied the customer at
table eight, alone. He was of medium height and build, with dark brown hair. He
wore a ratty three-day growth of beard. His dark eyes bored in on Kathy.
Working as a waitress, she'd had creepy guys stare at her before, but this one
felt different. Internally, she cringed just a little bit.
Might be a
pervert
, she thought.
It’s always so embarrassing when I have to call
John.

"Hi, what’s up?" Kathy asked as she sat down.

"You’re Katherine Kelver, and you have something I
want."

Kathy lifted an eyebrow. "What?"

"That flash drive you picked up last night. I’d like to
have it. I’ll pay you a lot of money for it."

Kathy simply stared with her jaw hanging down. "I… I don’t
know what you’re talking about."

His hand clasped around her wrist in a deceptively gentle grip.
Normally Kathy would have signaled for the bouncer instantly at something like
that, but she was too stunned to even notice. "Of course you do. Somebody
gave you a flash drive last night. I want it. There’s no real need for you to
know why, but I’m very willing to pay for it. Let’s say… a hundred thousand
bucks. I think that’d take care of all your expenses for the next two years of
college, plus a bit extra, wouldn’t it? You could quit your job."

"What’s on it?"

"Why do you need to know? It’s not yours to begin with,
but since you have it you can collect a large fee for returning it to its
proper owners. Isn’t that enough?"

His expression changed, a smiling mask sliding into place over
his stare. "What do you say, Kathy? It’s a lot of money, and I know
college is expensive. Why not bring me the flash drive?"

She stammered, her mind racing. It
was
a lot of money,
and she could really,
really
use it, and the fact of the mysterious
flash drive’s existence made it seem like the money might actually be real.
But… "I don’t have it with me."

"Where is it?"

Kathy made stammering noises. She wasn’t sure what to say.
After the break-in earlier today… "What business is it of yours?"

The smiling mask slipped out of place for just a moment, and
the grip on her wrist tightened. "Trust me. It’s my business."

Kathy’s heart quickened. "Yeah, I…"

Another waitress picked that moment to interrupt. She leaned
over Kathy’s shoulder. "You’ve got customers waiting for you," she
said.

Kathy took advantage of the distraction to jump to her feet and
run off toward the dressing room, whispering prayers. As she ran, she heard the
man behind her call out, "There’s an easy way and a hard way!"

She caught her breath for a few minutes before heading out to
deliver a backlog of drinks that had accumulated while she’d been listening to
rat-face. As soon as she hit a place where she could take a few minutes, she
hurried over to Mike’s table. She’d promised him a talk after work – that was
apparently enough incentive to keep him here and buying drinks all night.

She plopped down in the seat next to him, leaned over, and
whispered in his ear, "Did you see that guy I sat down to talk to?"

A shade of pink started at his neck and rose up to his cheeks.
His eyes fell down to his lap. "Yeah, I saw. Hard not to feel a little… I
know, I know, I shouldn’t. But…"

She shook her head, waving that issue aside. "He offered
me a hundred thousand bucks for that flash drive you were asking me
about!"

Michael stared at her.

"And that’s not all! He threatened me too, if I didn’t
take the money. What should I do, Michael?"

He shook his head. "I can’t even believe I might have been
right. This is
too
weird. But listen, Kathy, don’t do anything final
with him until you and I have had a chance to talk about it at more length.
Will you let me buy you a late night cup of coffee when you get off
tonight?"

She smiled and patted him on the hand. "OK, OK, you win.
You’ve got an unfair advantage tonight. Yes, I’ll have a cup of coffee with
you."

The bartender had had another note for her, but Kathy wasn’t
going to take that risk again. She beckoned the bouncer over with a crooked
finger. "I don’t want to see the guy at eight anymore," she said.
"Tell him to get out."

John Lincoln nodded with a frown and set out for table eight. A
former college football player who’d tried and failed to make it into the NFL,
he’d taken this job just to keep the bills paid until he could find something
better to do. But after three years he was still here, mostly because he hadn’t
always been the kind of man who helped maintain order, and this job was helping
him become better.

Intimidation described John’s job to a T, and he looked the
part.

When they walk, some people pull in on themselves, keep their
limbs close to their body, and take up less space. Not John. His hands
constantly balled into fists and then relaxed – a subconscious tic. With every
step he claimed territory. He shaved his head completely bald, and he still had
the biceps that come from playing football. His whole T-shirt filled up and
stretched out with various muscle groups, and he worked all of them every day
at the gym.

His career before the Neon included those NFL tryouts and strip
joint bouncing. Along the way he'd also gone through some tough years that he
didn't like to talk about; the evidence showed in scars on his cheek and his
forearm.

Arms crossed over his chest, he walked up to table eight
wearing a big scowl. "You’ve had enough."

The man stared back at him. John looked him over and decided he
outweighed this jerk by maybe fifty pounds. He was also at least six inches
taller. Easy fight. He met the man’s eyes.

The eyes changed his mind. There was something cold there. The
customer stared back at John without a hint of fear. Something dark flickered
across his face. "If that’s the way she wants it," he said. Then he
stood up and walked out.

John shrugged and walked back away from the table.

The evening passed. Trying to keep up with partiers and their
desire for booze made it possible for Kathy not to think about the events of
the past day until two in the morning. John the bouncer poked his head into the
lounge and waved for her to come out. "That politician guy at table 15 is
hanging around, says he’s waiting for you. That true? Or should I kick him
out?"

She smiled. "He’s waiting for me, John, don’t worry.
What’d table eight say when you told him to get out?"

John shrugged. "Just, ‘If that’s the way she wants
it.’"

Kathy suppressed a shiver. She knew what that meant. It was
"the hard way" he had mentioned earlier. Well, she’d get it all
sorted out with Michael.

She smiled at the bouncer. "Thanks John. Tell Michael I’ll
be out in just a bit."

Later, clad more comfortably in jeans and a T-shirt with a
bulldog on the front, she eased herself into the chair across from Mike at his
table. "So. Where are we going?"

"Oh, I don’t know, we’ll just pick a little all night
coffee shop, unless you have a preference."

"Nah. But listen, there’s a problem. I don’t want to sleep
at home – at first because of the break-in, but after that guy tonight I’m
doubly not wanting to. So I need to be back here in an hour before they finish
closing, so I can sleep in the employee lounge."

Michael snorted. "You can’t sleep here! Let me get you a
hotel room."

"Oh come on, Michael! Coffee is one thing but I never
said…"

"No, no, I didn’t mean that. I’m not planning to sleep
there myself. But I just don’t want you to have to sleep on some ratty old
couch."

Kathy said, "I won’t lie, a hotel bed sounds a lot
nicer." They walked out of the Neon.

They had gone about ten paces down the sidewalk when two men
moved into formation on either side of them. Kathy felt a cold, metallic touch
pressed into her side. For a girl who had never held one, she was surprised how
easy it was to figure out what the barrel of a gun felt like.

"You both need to just keep walking quietly." The man
on Kathy’s right spoke, and her head flicked over to him. He wore black clothing,
baggy fatigue pants and a similar shirt. Over it was a thick, intimidating bulk
that had to be a bulletproof vest. His face was the same bearded face she’d
seen in the club.

"What is this?" Michael asked. The amazing thing was,
the guy on Kathy's right looked familiar somehow.

Another man pressed a gun into his side, derailing that train
of thought.

The bearded man on Kathy’s right spoke softly to her. "I
want that flash drive, young lady. It’s a shame you had to have the bouncer
throw me out."

Cold beads of sweat popped out on Kathy’s forehead. In her
chest, she felt her heart pick up speed. The events of the last night and today
rushed through her mind, all of them culminating in the short man with the
unshaven jaw who said, "There’s an easy way, and a hard way." Oh,
there was a hard way, all right, and it involved anonymous men pointing guns at
her. The same panic she’d felt when she’d first saw the shooting came back in
full force.

A lump rose in Kathy’s throat as she felt the hot surge of
adrenaline through her veins. She stammered as she spoke.

"I don’t have it OK? I gave it to my roommate because
she’s the one who knows about computers anyway."

"Oh that is truly unfortunate," said the man beside
her.

Silently she fumed as she and Michael were marched forward. In
front of her, she watched a nondescript van pull to the curb and open a side
door.

But the real action was behind her, not in front. Kathy only
saw it as a shadow racing through her peripheral vision, but in the next second
something large and beefy slammed into the man next to her. He tumbled to the
ground. Kathy looked down to see John the bouncer grappling with one of the
gunmen.

Bedlam erupted in the same second, before Kathy could even
wonder where John had come from. Michael pulled his arm free of the man on his
side and threw himself at Kathy, trying to place his body between her and the
gun he’d been facing. But Kathy was trying to parlay John’s attack into a
full-fledged victory, and tried to lunge at the man who’d been guarding Mike.
The result was that all three of them went down to the pavement in a heap.

In the tumble of arms and legs all of Kathy’s wildly flung
fists either went wild or landed on the wrong target. The best thing that could
be said of the situation was that their attackers played under the same
handicap she did. In the midst of trying to land a good punch to the
black-clad-man’s head, though, her hand instead came to rest on the barrel of
his gun. With a jerk she yanked it free, and that changed everything.

Recognizing his danger, the attacker made a frantic effort to
throw Mike and Kathy off himself. When Michael rolled aside with a thump,
though, it gave Kathy a much easier line of sight to his head. Since she still
had the gun by the barrel rather than the handle, she hit his face with the
butt end as hard as she could. His head slammed back against the pavement, and
she struggled to her feet.

She rose just in time to see the reinforcements pouring out of
the van. There were three of them, all dressed the same as their original
attackers. The situation, the fear, the adrenaline – these guided her mind to
places it would never have gone. It took her a second to get the gun
straightened out in her hand, but when she did she pulled the trigger three
times, waving the pistol in their general direction. She screamed after the
third one, when she realized what she'd done.

The loud report of the gun stabbed Kathy’s eardrums, and the
fact that she'd actually shot a gun at people shook all the rest of her. She
stood dazed and blinking for a moment, whispering prayers. She saw all three
men on the ground. Each was lifting his head, though, so obviously none of them
were dead. In fact, she couldn’t see any blood at all. They’d simply dived for
cover when she fired.

She held the gun pointed at the three men on the ground.
Kathy’s dry throat kept her from saying anything at all, but that was OK. The
smoking barrel of the gun spoke volumes on its own. None of them moved.

Michael helped John to his feet, and the three of them began
backing slowly away from the men on the sidewalk. Somewhere in the distance,
Kathy heard a police siren wail. "Should we wait here for the cops to
arrest them?" She asked.

In between pants for breath, Michael said, "I would much,
much, much rather find a way to resolve this that didn’t involve my name
showing up in official police records."

"Oh yeah," Kathy replied, a bright pink blush
spreading up her cheeks. "Sorry, Mike, I didn’t even think of that. What,
then? Hail a cab?"

John spoke up. "Nope. My car’s just a block back from us.
Let’s get out of here."

Kathy inched backward from their attackers, holding the gun out
in front of her and waving it slightly. The thought flashed through her head
that she should say "Nobody move," or something similar, but she
didn’t trust her voice enough. Behind her she heard the doors of a car opening,
and she threw a glance over her shoulder to see the source of the noise. John
already sat in the driver's seat of his sport-utility vehicle, and Michael had
the passenger door open, as well as the rear door. When she turned her head
forward again, their assailants were climbing to their feet, so she loosed
three more bullets, making sure this time to aim far away from actual people.
Kathy threw herself into the back seat as Mike clambered into the front. She
was just pulling herself to a sitting position when John stomped on the gas and
pulled away from the curb. Kathy was thrown back down and hit her head lightly
on the window. She dragged herself back up. As she fumbled with the seat belt
the back window shattered.

Kathy screamed.

Mike said, "They're shooting at us!"

"They shot out my window!" John yelled at the same
time.

He hung a hard left at the first intersection they came to.
Kathy gave up on the seat belt. She turned around and looked out the open space
where the rear window used to be. "They're following us!" she called
out.

John grunted. "We'll see about that."

"What’s on that flash drive, anyway?" Mike muttered.

"If I knew thaaaaa…" Kathy's retort was cut off when
John took another sharp turn and she slid across the seat. "Still
there," she reported after a glance to the rear.

Michael, facing forward, shrank back in his chair as he saw
John racing toward a red light without so much as tapping on the brakes.
"The horn!" he suggested, gripping the armrests on his bucket seat.

"Good idea," John said between clenched teeth. He
jammed his hand down in the center of the steering wheel. He was rewarded with
a long, jarring honk.

It was too late to matter. Mike cringed. A mid-sized sedan bore
down on them, horn blaring. Over the noise of both horns he could hear the
sedan's tires screech as the driver braked and swerved desperately to avoid
them. Kathy added her screams to the cacophony of noise as the motion of both
vehicles brought the sedan into her field of view.

In the blink of an eye it was past them; the danger of
collision was gone. Instead the sedan struck their pursuers a glancing blow
before coming to rest perpendicular to the sidewalk. By the time the driver had
gotten out to shake his fist and curse, he was far behind them.

"Where we goin' again?" John asked.

"Leesburg," Mike replied.

John grunted. "Gotta get to a bridge first." He
yanked hard on the wheel, pulling the car into an abrupt right onto M Street.
Michael's eyes squeezed shut involuntarily as John changed lanes, shoehorning
his four-by-four into a space barely large enough for a Hyundai. The driver
behind them honked angrily, then skidded off the road when the pursuers tried
to match John's maneuver without equivalent space.

The sound of another bullet hitting his vehicle elicited
another curse from John. "Does insurance cover bullet holes?" he
asked.

Kathy watched in impotent terror as the distance between their
SUV and the pursuing van slowly narrowed. It seemed that every time she
blinked, there was a foot less separation between the two vehicles. "Can't
this thing go any faster?" she asked in frightened frustration.

They all leaned perilously over in their seats as John cut
another corner way too sharp.

"No," Mike replied, "and SUVs have a horrible
record of rollovers, too."

John grimaced and made yet another turn. This one, though, put
them on the Francis Scott Key Bridge between Washington, D.C. and suburban
Virginia. The late hour meant little traffic, and he opened up the throttle in
a mad dash for the other side.

Mike was right. His SUV wasn't built for speed, and the van
gained ground quickly. John rocketed off the bridge on an exit ramp to the
right, and found himself on the George Washington Parkway in Virginia. He
couldn’t see a single streetlight illuminating the dark road, and John’s grip
on the steering wheel got even tighter. To his right was a small grassy strip
by the side of the road, and then what would have been a scenic view of the
Potomac in better lighting. But between the grassy strip and the river was a
steep drop off. John shuddered, thinking of what would happen if he lost
control of the car.

"They must have that sucker souped up somehow," John
muttered. "They shouldn't be this much faster than us."

In another second, though, the thought became academic. The van
pulled into the left lane beside them. John had time to glance over at them and
curse before the pursuers broadsided them.

The painful shriek of metal against metal assaulted their ears
as the two cars rubbed against each other. John grunted as he fought for
control of his car. He shut out Kathy and Mike's panicked yells and yanked on
the steering wheel, pulling away from the pursuers. The van lost velocity in
the ramming, and he saw just a second where he was free. He jabbed his foot
mercilessly on the gas.

John had only a few seconds to savor his victory before Kathy
shouted, "Here they come again!"

This time, the van pulled completely even with them before
ramming. Despite their speed, John risked a quick glance over at their
pursuers. In a flash he recognized the man behind the wheel. It was the man
from table eight, who Kathy'd asked him to get rid of.

The moment passed, and John saw the man pull his steering wheel
hard to the right. This time, though, John was ready. In the same moment the
van veered right and accelerated sharply, John jammed on the brakes.

He felt the wheel punch his chest hard as his vehicle screeched
to a stop. Out the corner of his eye he saw Michael thrown forward so hard his
head hit the dashboard.

All that faded, though, in comparison to the picture in front
of him. The van was moving so fast that it crashed over the grass shoulder. Now
on his right side instead of his left, John managed a mere second’s worth of
glimpse through the driver’s side window of the van, and saw the bearded man
covering his face with his hands. Then they plunged headlong out over the
river.

The moment froze in his vision: the river gurgling softly far
below, and the black van suspended there mere feet past the edge of the cliff,
but too far.

Then it was over. In less time than it took to blink, the van
was gone, sucked out of sight by merciless gravity. They heard a mighty splash,
then John pressed lightly on the accelerator, starting forward at a much more
sedate pace.

None of them could think of anything adequate to say.

***

In the northern Virginia suburbs of Washington D.C.,
Congressman Vincent lived in a home that combined bachelor pad efficiency with
serious income. There was a an expensive living room set with a sofa that
looked like it served as a bed most nights, a pricey coffee table wearing
neglected cup rings, and an entertainment center that looked like the most
expensive item in the house. Kathy tried to keep her eyes off the unwashed
dishes in the sink.

"I can’t say what it was for sure, Kathy," John said,
sipping a cup of coffee at Mike’s kitchen table. "The way he said that just
worried me. ‘If that’s the way she wants it…’ Well, it just seemed threatening.
I figured I better keep an eye out when you left."

"I’m glad you did," Kathy replied.

"OK," Michael said, taking a seat at the table after
pouring everyone coffee. "We need to go through this, right from the
beginning, and you need to fill me in on what’s going on here. I think it’s
obvious now, after that guy offered you a hundred thousand bucks for it, that
the thing they were after when they broke into your room was that flash drive.
It’s also safe to assume they didn’t get it, since they’re still bothering you.
Am I doing OK so far?"

"Yeah, my roommate has it. I’m sure you’re right,
Mike," Kathy replied. "It also explains why they’d tear up Colleen's
computer, right? In case she had some record of the flash drive on there?"

"Yeah, that does make sense if they’re as concerned with
you not knowing what’s on it as they are with getting it for themselves. Where
was the flash drive when your dorm room got broken into?"

"Colleen took it with her to class. She was going to see
if the computer lab had anything she could use to see what was on it."

Michael leaned back in his chair. "So I assume you tried
to find out what was on it and failed?"

"Yeah. She worked on it for like, two hours or more.
Colleen is a genius with computers."

 "So the flash drive itself gives us nothing as far
as an explanation for why these people want it so bad. What about the guy you
got it from?" Michael was leaning forward now, his eyes focused intently on
Kathy. "He must have said something, right? He didn’t just put it in your
hand and kick the bucket, right?