“I prefer to think of him as a pill-popping drunk with two DUIs and a reckless endangerment under his belt.”
“Point taken.” Joe laid a hand on his Glock. Tell an agent to be careful and he’s going to check that his piece is where it should be-in Joe’s case, holstered on his waist, butt facing out for the cross draw. He forgot about the weapon and switched off his phone, staring at the picture of Jessie and Grace on his wallpaper. He ran a fingernail over their faces, but it didn’t bring them any closer. Getting so big. He said it every time, just like he said he’d be home more often and he’d stop letting “the job” take precedence over his job as a father.
Someday…
Joe drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The exterior temperature gauge read 102, but it felt hotter. Across the yard a clump of tumbleweed rustled. He leaned forward, eyes glued to the windmill. Come on, he whispered. Give us a breeze. The windmill shuddered but did not turn.
Times had changed. You didn’t need a windmill to pump water out of the ground. And you sure as heck didn’t need wires to send a voice from one person to another. Joe knew all about phones and cables and all things telecommunication. He knew more about digital technology than he’d ever wanted to. Semaphore had taken care of that.
Officially it was Operation Semaphore, and it had brought him to Austin two months earlier. For the record it was a routine transfer, a lateral move from Sacramento to shore up the Austin residency’s glaring manpower shortage. He came billed as an agent who knew his way around municipal corruption cases, with a stint overseas policing piracy of intellectual property.
But the record didn’t say everything.
There were rumors about a chronic inability to follow orders. People said that Joe Grant was a cowboy who left a trail of wreckage in his wake. They said that Austin was his last watering hole and that he couldn’t retire soon enough. And whatever you do, don’t partner up with him.
The rumors were bullshit-disinformation designed to give him leeway to act on his own. No one knew about Semaphore except Joe, Keefe, and the task force in D.C.
The sound of an engine made him sit up straighter. He caught a flash of red in the rearview. It was Felix’s Ferrari. Joe believed the model was called a LaFerrari, and it retailed for a cool million five. It was also the most conspicuous car on the face of the planet. He felt certain the boys up in the space station could see it right now with just their eyes.
Felix parked close behind Joe’s car. A scrawny man with a mop of dark hair climbed out and hurried over. The door opened and Felix slid into the seat, eyes bugging, sweat rolling down his forehead. “You’re going to need a bigger boat,” he said.
“Relax,” said Joe. “We’re safe here.”
“Safe. Yeah, right. You got no idea.” Felix spun and peered over his shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed and sagging with fatigue. He might have just pulled an all-nighter banging out code at the office, but Felix didn’t bang out code anymore. Felix’s real name was Hal Stark, and Stark was senior vice president for special projects at ONE Technologies, the biggest tech company in the United States. ONE was a player in everything: software, hardware, online sales, wireless communications; a gargantuan cross of Oracle, Google, Cisco, and AT &T.
“Why don’t you take a breath, chill for a second. Then you can give me an idea.” Joe pulled a pack of Juicy Fruit from his pocket. “A stick of gum makes you hum.”
“What’s that from?”
“What movie? I don’t know. My wife says it sometimes. Have a stick.”
Stark pulled out two and folded the chewing gum into a double-thick square before ramming it into his mouth. A moment later he was checking over his shoulder again.
Joe lowered both windows. “Hear that?”
“What? I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly. This is Dripping Springs. Austin is twenty-five miles in the other direction. No one’s on your tail. We’ve been watching you the whole way out. You didn’t bring your phone, did you?”
“What do you think?”
“Okay, then. We checked your car earlier. It’s clean. As far as anyone knows or cares, you left the office for a doctor’s appointment. You’re safe.”
“All right, then. I believe you. I’m safe.”
Joe put a hand on Stark’s shoulder. “You have any problem getting it out?”
Stark pepped up. “They didn’t take a second look. The security guard had it right there in his hand. He had no idea he was holding the crown jewels.”
“What did I tell you?” Joe looked at the Ferrari’s nose in his rearview mirror. “Is there anything about that car that’s inconspicuous?”
“That’s the point,” said Stark. “Nothing’s run-of-the-mill on that car.”
“Anyway, thank you, Hal. On behalf of the United States government, we are grateful. Now give me the goods, let me tape you swearing that you downloaded the information of your own free will, and we’ll cut you loose. No one will ever learn about your cooperation.”
“My ass,” said Stark. “What about you? You get the DUIs off my record?”
“Expunged is the word,” said Joe. “And yes, both have been expunged from your record.”
“That was cheap,” said Stark. “Preying on a man’s weaknesses like that.”
“A guy like you can’t afford to hire a driver? That’s the second time you were popped in the past twelve months. And next time make sure your date isn’t a minor.”
The DUI was their way in, the chink in the enemy’s armor. Stark was right. It was cheap, but Joe had to use what he was given. He’d yet to meet an informant who volunteered his services of his own free will.
“The pressure,” said Stark. “You have no idea. He’s relentless. Always more. Always better. Always faster. He’s not human, I swear it. He’s some kind of superman. No…a supermachine. Men have feelings. He says he’s beyond feeling. He’s proud of it. He says he’s ‘becoming.’ Can you believe that? Becoming what?”
“Okay, Hal. Let’s calm down. Just begin at the beginning. You’ll feel better once it’s off your chest.”
“And you expunged the felony, too?”
Yes, Joe said. He had.
Hal Stark sat up straighter. “All right, then, the first thing you need to know is that you don’t know the half of it. What you guys found-the reason you came after me-that’s the tip of the iceberg…no, no…the tip of the tip.”
Joe took this in without comment. He felt the hackles on his neck stand up as they always did when he was about to get the goods. “Go on.”
“The incursion…well, you know that wasn’t the first time, don’t you?”
The incursion referred to a hack of the FBI’s mainframe eight months earlier that had triggered the red flags and gotten Semaphore off the ground.
“Of course,” Joe lied. “Exactly how long has it been going on?”
Stark laughed. “You didn’t know. Well, like I said, he’s a supermachine. Amazing you found it in the first place.”
“We’re no slouches ourselves.”
“You might want to reserve comment until I’m done.”
Joe looked away, drawn by the rustling of the large tumbleweed. Finally a breeze. He glanced at the windmill, but the wheel didn’t budge. He looked back and the tumbleweed was still.
“What is it?” asked Stark.
“Nothing,” said Joe. “Keep going.”
“It’s all about the company we just bought. The one that caused all the headlines.”
“Merriweather,” said Joe.
“Yeah, it builds the fastest supercomputer in the world, called Titan. He’s got plans for it.” Stark shook his head. “You won’t believe it.”