Fault Line (12 page)

Randol asked, Did you get a good look at him? Could you describe him, pick him out of a lineup?

Alex tried to picture what he'd seen. It was dark. I What had he seen? Suddenly, he wasn't sure about any of it. He felt drained and useless.

Black? White?

Alex shook his head. I don't know.

Well, at least you scared him off, Tibaldi said. Nice move, with the bleach. And you didn't lose anything.

Alex looked at them. So you think this was just a random break-in?

Randol didn't answer, and Alex realized he was assessing his own confidence in Alex's responses. After a long moment he nodded and said, If he didn't have a gun, and you don't have enemies, that's what it looks like. I think you had a bad guy casing the neighborhood, he saw those newspapers, he took a closer look, he saw the door has only one lock, not even a deadbolt, which looks to be what, forty years old, I'm guessing?

Yeah, Alex said. Probably that old.

Watch this, Randol said. He stepped out and closed the door behind him. From the other side, Alex heard a rasping sound, then a click, and then the door opened.

Damn, Alex said. How did you do that?

Randol handed Alex a thin piece of plastic, hard but flexible, about four inches by four. Slide it between the door and the jamb, push back the mechanism, you're inside in less time than it takes to use a key. Get deadbolt locks. Have the jambs and frames reinforced. Make it harder for the criminal.

Alex didn't like the rebuke behind the words, but the man had a point.

Alex scrubbed a hand across his face. He was a weird combination of keyed up and exhausted. Well, thank you very much for coming out in the middle of the night, or, whatever, I guess it's the morning, he said.

Not a problem, sir, Randol said. We're glad you're okay.

Alex left every light on after they left. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn't help thinking: What if he comes back?

But come on. A burglar coming back to the same house he got surprised at and ran out of earlier the same night? The police might be there, who knows what.

Ridiculous.

The way Randol had opened the front door, though that was unbelievable. The miracle wasn't that Alex had gotten away tonight; it was that no one had tried to rob him until now.

Not that the guy would come back. But if he did, it wasn't like Alex could stop him. There was effectively no lock on the door, he didn't own a gun.

He remembered the sound the door had made as it slid stealthily open. How terrified and vulnerable he had felt in the bath.

The hell with it. He'd just stay at the Four Seasons in Palo Alto. He did enough business meals in their Quattro restaurant. Might as well sleep there tonight. If he stayed here, he would lie awake the rest of the night, imagining every joint that settled was a footstep, every whoosh of the gas heater the sound of the front door again.

He grabbed a change of clothes and looked through the front window long and hard before venturing out.

Chapter 12 EMERGENCY

Alex slept fitfully for a few hours at the hotel. When he woke up, the brilliant Bay Area sun was shining through the windows onto the white bed linens. He scrubbed his face and thought about the night before. At the time, he'd been panicked and confused. He had thought it was just a burglar. But now, he realized he'd been missing something obvious.

The inventor killed, Alex's contact at the patent office dead, and someone breaking into his house, all in the space of what, thirty-six hours? You didn't have to be a conspiracy theorist to believe coincidences didn't happen like that.

What were those games he had liked to play in Highlights magazine when he was a kid? What do these things have in common?-that was one of them. There would be a bunch of seemingly disparate pictures, but if you looked closely, if you thought about it, you'd realize they all had right angles, or all began with the letter A, or whatever.

What Alex, Hilzoy, and Hank all had in common was Obsidian. Even if it was a coincidence, the overlap was obvious. The question was, why? What was it about Obsidian that led to someone wanting to kill for it?

No, it didn't make sense. Companies that wanted to acquire a promising technology or neutralize a threatening one did it with cash. It was easy, and it was legal. Hell, Hilzoy could have been had for under seven figures. That wasn't even a rounding error for players in the computer security field.

But whoever was behind all this, how did they even know about the technology? The patent application was secret.

Well, something could have leaked. Who knows who Hilzoy might have told? Who knows who saw what in the patent office? And it wasn't as if Obsidian was for Alex's eyes only at Sullivan, Greenwald. There was Osborne, for one, and of course Sarah.

He told himself he was probably being ridiculous, but better safe than sorry. He called Detective Gamez on the mobile number on the man's card. He told him about the break-in. He told him he knew it sounded crazy, but What if Hank's death hadn't been a heart attack? How sure were they? Because the inventor and the examiner-it just seemed like quite a coincidence, no? To his surprise, Gamez didn't treat him like he was a nut job. He told him he would look into it and call Alex back.

Alex drove to the office. The first thing he did there was call a locksmith. It was going to be hard enough to sleep in the house after what had happened. Turning the place into a fortress would make it a little easier. Then he called a gun shop. Apparently, he could buy a gun but would have to wait ten days to pass a background check before picking it up. Shit, he'd always thought background checks were a good idea. But he needed something right now.

Gamez called him back. He said, All right, I talked to the Arlington cops. They already autopsied Shiffman. The family wanted it- Shiffman was young and healthy, and the family was concerned there might be some genetic predisposition that could affect other members of the family.

Well, what did the autopsy show?

Inconclusive. They think it might be something called Brugada syndrome.

What's that?

Apparently it's a genetic condition that accounts for sudden death in otherwise healthy males, most of them in their thirties, often while they're sleeping. It's not that well understood.

Alex thought it sounded like something someone made up so doctors wouldn't have to tell the bereaved, Sorry, we don't have a clue.

Do you know is it likely they'll have any kind of definitive explanation?

They're doing genetic testing and a family history. But you want my opinion? No one's ever really going to know. Sometimes people just keel over and there's no explanation. It happens.

So you think this was just a heart attack?

I talked to the homicide lieutenant in Arlington. They examined Shiffman's apartment, routine for a death like this. No sign of forced entry. No evidence of a struggle. And there were no marks of any kind on the body. If that's a murder, I'd like to know how it was done.

So you think I'm being paranoid.

No, I don't think that. It's a hell of a coincidence, no doubt about it.

I don't know what to do.

Apart from the break-in, have you noticed anything unusual? Anyone loitering near your car in the office parking lot, anyone following you while you're driving, anyone outside your house when you leave for work?

No. Nothing.

Well, you've got my number. Be alert, and if anything rubs you the wrong way, call me.

Thanks.

Not a problem.

Alex hung up and looked at the phone for a moment. Somehow the fact that Gamez was so sure Hank had just died of a heart attack made him edgy again. Because the truth was, they didn't really know.

What if none of this was a coincidence? If someone was after him, they knew where he lived. They'd known where Hilzoy lived. They'd gotten to Hank. They would know where Alex worked. They'd know what he looked like-hell, his photo and professional bio were right there on Sullivan, Greenwald's Web site, available to anyone anywhere. So what was he supposed to do? Stop living in his house? Stop going to work? He thought he'd felt naked in the bathroom that night, but he felt more exposed now.

A thought was trying to bubble up from somewhere deep inside him. It felt more like an instinct, a reflex, than a thought. A single word, a syllable, and it was-

Ben.

No. Katie, then their father and he'd visited home, what, twice while their mother was wasting away with cancer? She d been in a coma for three days at the end, and Ben hadn't managed to get back to be with her even then. Too busy playing army to be with his own mother when she died. Didn't they have compassionate leave in the military? Jesus, it was a miracle the bastard had even bothered to show up for the funeral.

He blew out a long breath. His useless brother. Football hero. Wrestling star. G.I. Joe. But when the going really got tough, he was the invisible man. And now Alex was supposed to go crawling to him, begging him for his help?

Anyway, help how? What could Ben do?

He had a lot of training, Alex knew that. He'd been a Ranger in the battle of Mogadishu and had won a bunch of medals. Alex had seen the movie Black Hawk Down and couldn't imagine Ben, tough as he was, doing all that, but apparently Ben had. And after that he'd been a Green Beret or something. So for Christ's sake, if anyone could help

The thing was, he didn't know how to contact Ben. There had been a mailing address at Fort Bragg, but four or five years earlier, the estate stuff he'd been sending to the address had started coming back to him unopened. Apparently, Ben had been posted somewhere new and hadn't bothered to mention it to Alex. And Alex was damned if he was going to ask.

Jesus, was Ben even still in the army? He seemed to love it; it was hard to imagine him leaving. But

He went to the army's Web site and followed the links to something called militarylocator.com, which apparently enabled you to find anyone in any branch of the service. You had to register to use it. Alex started to type in his name and e-mail address, then hesitated. Probably he was being paranoid, but it couldn't hurt to be careful. He typed in John Smith, with a made-up e-mail address. A search box popped up: first name, last name, branch of service. He entered Ben Treven, Army and hit the return key. A new screen came up: Ben Treven. Army, active duty. E-8. Bio, not available. Conflicts and operations, not available. Interests, not available. Unit affiliations, not available.

Well, two things seemed clear. First, Ben was still with the army. Second, whatever he was doing, the army wasn't inclined to say.

There was an 800 number for something called Military OneSource. He punched it in and waited. After a single ring, a woman answered.

Cherine Nelson, how may I help you?

Hi, my name is Alex Treven, he said, feeling uncertain. I'm trying to contact my brother, Ben. He's in the army, but I don't know how to get in touch. It's kind of an emergency.

Cherine gave him the 800 number for the army personnel center. Alex called the number. A man there told him he didn't have precise information about Ben's whereabouts, but could see that he received a message.

If you don't know where he is, how are you going to get him a message? Alex asked.

Would you like to leave a message, sir? the man responded, as malleable as a brick wall.

Alex hung up. He'd call back later if he had to.

There was one more possibility. Ben had an e-mail address their mom had used to stay in touch with him. Alex had used it, too, to keep him apprised of their mom's worsening condition, and of estate matters after she died. It had been over six years, and even if it was still an active account, he didn't know whether Ben still checked it, and if he did, how often. But it was worth a try.

He opened a new message and typed Ben's Yahoo address in the To box. He thought for a moment, then typed Emergency in the subject line. He tabbed down and wrote:

Ben, last night someone broke into our house and tried to kill me. Two people I'm connected with have also been killed. I'm not paranoid and I'm not making this up. I need y our help. Please call me as soon as you can. Alex.

He included his mobile phone number, then hit the send button. He waited a moment, then checked for new mail. No bounceback. Okay, the account was still active. But would Ben check it? And would he call even if he did?

Chapter 13 DA%0JAEU FUCKING VU

Ben was watching CNN in his Ankara hotel room when his mobile phone buzzed. He checked the readout, expecting a message from Hort. Instead, it was an e-mail. From Alex?

He frowned, wondering what it could be about. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd heard from his brother. The estate stuff was long since done. He couldn't think of a reason they needed to be in touch. There were some cousins, an aunt maybe someone had died?

He opened the e-mail and read the message, then read it again. He closed the phone and shook his head.

It was exactly like the shit in high school, the same old shit. Alex had done something he should have known better than to do, and now he needed his big brother to bail him out. Amazing. DEjA fucking vu.