Hidden Threat (52 page)

“
Are you saying he wanted to have sex with Amanda?”

“
Oh don’t pretend to be so naïve, Melanie. You knew that from the beginning. And to protect your five hundred thousand dollars I’m sure you were considering it. I heard you in the driveway, urging Amanda to go see Dagus. And you knew! I saved you from yourself!”

Melanie crossed her arms and looked away at the oak chest she had cradled the other day.

“
Go ahead, pretend it isn’t true. I don’t care.” Nina drove the stake in a bit deeper.

“
But—”

“
No ‘buts,’ Melanie. Listen. I’ve seen the way Brianna looks at Dagus. So, she gets to experiment. Dagus gets a fix. He keeps his mouth shut for you. Brianna gets some money for her mom. Everybody wins.”

“
For me?”

The two women stared at one another for a few moments.

“
Well, are we going to just stand here, or are we going to finish this thing? Is that keystroke software still working?” Nina asked, staring at Amanda’s computer.

Melanie looked into the hallway, as if she was expecting Amanda to materialize, and then back at her mother. She did a quick visual tour of the room. The bright yellow-and-white patterned bedspread was made neatly. The mini-blinds were opened slightly. The street light painted muted yellow prison bars on the floor. Amanda’s desk contained the usual smattering of notepaper and opened school books.

She sighed, as if to shake off the film of their nefarious deeds. “Of course. We’ve been using it for years. Why wouldn’t it work now?”

And of course she picked up right where she left off. “Then let’s see what our little girl has been up to.”

Melanie sat down at the computer and pressed four keys at once, but instead of prompting her to activate the keystroke copy software she had installed on Amanda’s computer, it stopped her screen saver and prompted a password.

“
That’s new.” She tried again the four simultaneous keys required to activate the keystroke software saved on the root drive, with no result.

“
Why would she change her password?” Melanie asked aloud.

“
Why do you think? I thought I trained you better than that.” Nina’s voice drew a sharp edge. “She’s hiding something.”

Melanie tried several different combinations of passwords that she had retrieved from the keystroke and screenshots secretly saved to her hard drive. All were unsuccessful. There was even a function that recorded the information and sent blind e-mails to a designated account, essentially delivering everything the individual typed into the computer keyboard as well as screenshots every minute. The screenshot was particularly useful in seeing what others were sending Amanda or what she was viewing on the Internet. Melanie had rationalized the use of the software four years ago under the premise of protecting Amanda from Internet predators.

Nina sat on the edge of the bed as Melanie turned around to respond to her question. “What are you going to do?”

“
Well, I need to find out what she’s hiding from us. It’s the only way to keep her under control.”

“
I’m aware of that, but if you can’t get in, what can you do?”

“
We’ve got to find her and stop whatever it is she has planned. There are too many people involved now, if what you say is true. A lawyer and a journalist to go along with this Dwyer bitch?”

“
That’s right.”

“
Who’s the lawyer?”

“
You don’t want to know.”

“
Humor me.”

“
Foxworth.”

Melanie let out a long sigh. Just about everyone in the Carolinas had heard the name of the promising young attorney whose litigation brilliance compelled adversaries to seek solutions outside of the courtroom. “He’s the ‘fathers’ rights’ guy?”

“
Part of his portfolio.”

Melanie chewed on her bottom lip for a minute and looked at her mother. “I’ve got to find Amanda now. Talking to her is the only way.”

“
Good luck.”

As she stood, the home phone rang. Answering it, she heard what she thought was Amanda’s voice screaming. “Mother, it’s the new house! Come, quick!”

***

Jake Devereaux spun
the ankle bracelet that the deputy sheriff had secured to his leg several days ago. “Fricking house arrest . . .”

He lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, absently tossing a football to see how close he could bring it to touching the plaster without actually making contact.

On his fifth try he nicked the ceiling and some white dust fell into his face. Spitting it out, he sat up, which was when he heard his computer buzz. He had been keeping connected to his Yahoo! instant messenger with voice, hoping Amanda would contact him.

He sat down at his desk, shifted the mouse to remove the screen saver and then listened as the two women talked. The voices were surprisingly clear, though one seemed closer to the microphone than the other.

“
That’s new.”

“
Why would she change her password?”

Jake scrambled for his cell phone. He had to call them before it was too late. He made the connection and began a long conversation.

CHAPTER 72

Pakistan

Monday Morning (Hours of Darkness)

Mullah Rahman received the call from Bagram that “hundreds” of helicopters were taking off and flying to the east. Translated, that meant probably thirty or forty. His man inside in the Laundromat had spotted “thousands” of 101
^st
Airborne Division soldiers boarding the helicopters which meant that the action was going to take place inside of Afghanistan as the conventional soldiers never pressed too far up against the border, much less crossed into Pakistan.

He posted his sentries along the ridge that separated Pakistan from Afghanistan along the Nuristan and Kunar Province borders so that they could report on the locations of the landing and then Rahman could use his rockets and mortars to harass the Americans all night long without fear of reprisal.

He had killed Kamil’s wife and kept Mansur chained to the wall then rigged the house to explode the minute someone tried to enter. He still thought Kamil might return and the isolated qalat was always the initial link up location. Its tunnel complex beneath led to his house inside the village and to an escape route into the side of the mountains.

Initially, when he had heard the reports of hundreds of helicopters, crossing the jagged snowcapped ridge his first thought had been, “They’re lost.” This actually happened on occasion given that the borders were not marked with fences, or beacons, or anything other than indiscriminate shale and snowfall.

But when the soldiers began disembarking in valleys to his north and south, he thought about his flash drive and said, “They tricked me.”

But something was off. The flash drive plan had a withdrawal plan. He had committed his fighters into Afghanistan and the Thorium mines based on that information. Plus, this was forbidden terrain and he had paid his contacts in the Pakistan military handsomely to provide him any information about impending attacks, which the American forces always coordinated with the hapless Pakistan military commanders.

While many believed that fighting for terrain and people was the primary focus of this war, Rahman knew that the true duel was about acquiring and protecting information.

And he starkly realized he had lost this particular contest, temporarily.

The wind stung his face as he knelt on the outskirts of his escape cave no more than 400 meters from his home. Through his night-vision goggles he could see the helicopters a few miles to the north and a few miles to the south, but nothing in his immediate area. His big problem now was that he could not communicate with any of his watchmen.

Suddenly, Aswan, who was huddled next to him, muttered, “Three Americans.”

Rahman turned and peered through his goggles barely making out two men going into the window and another running through the snow and pressing himself against the wall of the qalat.

“
What did you do with the computers?” Rahman asked his aide.

“
They are in the basement, protected by a fake IED,” Aswan said.

“
Get to the DSHK and shoot at Mansur’s house until you ignite the explosives. I’m going back for the hard drive. They get that, they get everything and I . . . we lose our advantage. Our just reward.”

Rahman and Aswan gave each other the warrior hand-to-forearm clasp and departed in two separate directions. Aswan overland to the DSHK position and Rahman back into the dark tunnel that led to the basement of his house.

About half way through the labyrinth, Rahman heard the dull thump of the DSHK machinegun firing at the house where he had killed Kamil’s wife and shackled Mansur.

He needed to grab the hard drive and the remainder of the $500,000 and escape into the next set of villages to the east. Always push east, further into Pakistan, away from the Americans.

Who had surprisingly attacked on his turf.

Reaching the outer door to the basement, he heard voices above.

CHAPTER 73

Lake Keowee, South Carolina

Sunday Evening (Eastern Time)

“
Hi, Amanda,” Dagus called from the foyer. “Wow. Nice. This the place your mother’s buying?” Then after a moment. “Smells like somebody’s getting ready to barbecue or something.”

Amanda cocked her head from the balcony that looked down onto the atrium. She opened her mouth to say something, but then decided not to.

“
So how are you, Amanda? Are you coming down? Want me to come up?” Dagus apparently wasn’t going to wait for an invitation, moving toward the steps as he removed his jacket. She watched him ascend as if propelled. He was different, she thought. Did he know something? Had she left a clue behind at his house?

“
Sure, Lenard, come on up.”

Amanda moved away from the railing, turning to her right to watch him approach the top landing. She saw he was wearing a long-sleeve madras shirt with tan khaki pants and dock shoes. He had gelled his hair and his physical presence was preceded by a crisp, citrus scent.

“
Lenard. I like you calling me that. It connotes a certain . . . intimacy.”

Amanda gave no indication of her inner turmoil. The pressure she felt was enormous. He approached her as he stepped onto the landing. To his right was the railing that gave way to the foyer below.

“
Or would you prefer I call you Del?”

Dagus stopped at the top step, one foot on the landing and the other on the next to last step. “Come again?”

“
You know, Del Dangurs? Like Jimmy Olson, star reporter, who gets jealous of living in Superman’s shadow?”

“
Amanda, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” He went for a consoling voice that somehow made him seem more dangerous. Controlled rage. How long could someone bind fury, she wondered? And how many years had he lived behind this veil? The pressure
he
must be feeling at this moment.

Amanda wrinkled her nose as if to let him know that she wasn’t buying his act. “Well, I read newspapers too, Del.” She backed around the pool table, keeping her back to the entertainment center.

“
Honestly, I have no idea what you are saying, Amanda.” He paused a second; something seemed to register. “Were you in my computer, Amanda?”

“
Why, sir, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she mimicked in a syrupy sweet Southern drawl. Scarlett O’Hara had been her favorite role in the high school drama club.

“
You came to me because you needed help, Amanda. I’m here to help you.” Dagus stopped when he saw the pistol lying in the middle of the table. “What the hell is that?”

“
What?” Amanda continued to look him in the eyes.

“
That,” he growled, pointing at the pistol.

“
Oh, that,” she chuckled. “Why, sir, I believe that’s a Colt Peacemaker.” She winked at him suggestively. “Wanna make some peace?”

If the moment were not so serious, the look on Dagus’s face would have been priceless, but she didn’t have the time to savor it.

His left hand reached toward the center of the pool table.

“
You know, the police can prove that you burned down my dad’s house in North Carolina.”

A dull glaze covered his eyes—the sullen look of a man who was crossing into the irrational. She knew this would be the dangerous part, as her manipulations would be less effective and she would, therefore, have less control of the situation. But she had to know. She checked her watch, wondering what could be taking so long.

As she looked up, the pistol was in his hand. “Amanda, why is this here? What are you doing?”

“
Come on, Del Dangurs, tell me about that article you wrote trashing my father. Why’d you write it, you son of a bitch?”