She glanced toward the front, into the rearview mirror and the black shadows of Max’s face. The second they’d left the Foggy Bottom, it had been as if he’d turned something off inside himself. His touch had become impersonal. The tone of his voice, strictly business. Lola wasn’t so lucky. He still bombarded her senses. The scent of him filled the vehicle, sliding into her lungs and warming her chest. As best she could, she pushed aside her emotions and desire, her fear of tonight and her future with Max, and concentrated on their plan.
She climbed into the front seat and snapped the belt across her lap. She could be a professional. As Max had told her the night he’d agreed to help her, failure was not an option. She would not let him down.
“Are those heels on your boots?” he asked as they took an off-ramp and headed toward the suburbs.
“Yes, but only three inches.”
The golden light from the dash lit up his chest and throat. He said something in Spanish, and she figured it was best not to ask him to translate.
“You told me to wear shoes that had no discernible tread,” she reminded him.
“I also told you to wear shoes you can run in.”
“I can run in these.”
He made a rude scoffing sound and neither of them spoke again until he pulled the Jeep to a side street and parked.
“Sam’s house is a block over and down. All the property down that street abuts the woods,” Max said, and looked across at Lola. Within the dark interior, he could just make out the shape of her face and eyes. “We’re going to come in from the back.” He reached behind his seat on the floor and grabbed his rucksack. “Stay right behind me, just like you did on that island. No talking until we’re inside.” He pulled the keys out of the ignition and flipped off the interior lights. “Once we get to the house, I’ll cut the power to the alarm system. That will also cut the power to the rest of the house.”
“Without power, how will you erase the hard drives on Sam’s computer?”
“He has a battery backup that will kick on for about half an hour. We’ll be in and out in half that time.”
“How do you know all this? Have you already been in his house?”
“Of course. I don’t work totally blind.” He opened his door and shut it behind him without a sound. Lola met him by the right front tire, and together they moved from the side of the road. Within seconds, they were swallowed up within lush Maryland woods.
It took a few moments for Max’s eyes to fully adjust to the heavy darkness around him. Lola stumbled twice, then she slipped her hand into the back pocket of his Levi’s. The warmth of her touch swept across his behind and spread fire to his groin. He wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. If she knew the torture she put him through. If she knew that the sight of her in the airport earlier, walking down the gangway toward him, had nearly sent him to his knees, begging her to let him love her.
He reached behind him and took her hand from his pocket. He held her palm to his and gave it a little squeeze. Removing her hand from his pants was just one more step he would take this night to remove her from his life. No more torture. No more jealousy, yet the prospect of a torture-and jealousy-free life gave him no comfort.
Within five minutes of leaving the Jeep, Max and Lola were in Sam’s backyard. They both pulled on leather gloves, then checked the garage to make sure his car was gone. The garage was empty and they moved to the darkest side of the house and crouched by a basement window. Max took a pair of wire cutters from his rucksack and snipped the power. Light from what he knew to be the kitchen shut off, and he stuck the blade of his K-Bar knife between the window’s frame and slid the lock free.
The window opened without a sound, and Max entered first. He helped Lola through, then he took her gloved hand in his. The two of them moved through the pitch-black basement and up the stairs to the kitchen. Moonlight poured in through the back door as he led her to a room down the hall.
“Shut the drapes,” he whispered, and moved to the desk shoved against one wall. The soft hum of a computer filled the thick air and the backup power source blinked from beneath the desk.
Once Lola had done as he’d asked, he pulled a flashlight from his rucksack and took a seat. He stuck the end of the flashlight between his teeth, shone the beam on the keyboard, and slid a diskette into the A drive.
“Max,” Lola whispered as she knelt beside him. She placed her hand on his thigh and was so close, her breath touched his cheek. “What is that?”
At the DOS prompt, he typed in wipeout d:, hit enter, then took the flashlight from his mouth. “This is your ex-fiancé’s worst nightmare. A nuclear bomb. This is the software the Department of Defense uses to erase data from their hard drives. Or, for that matter, the hard drives of any other government, terrorist, or badass little dictator.” He dug around in his sack and pulled out a pin light. “Look around for those original photographs and negatives. I didn’t see the pictures when I was in here the other night. Maybe you’ll have better luck,” he said as he handed her the light. He was fairly certain Lola wouldn’t find them, either, because Max was sure they were in the safe in the closet. “And bring me any backup disks you can find.”
While Lola checked the file cabinet, Max erased everything on the remaining drives. As he verified each wipe, and overwrote them so completely there was nothing remaining that could be recovered, he watched her outline and couldn’t decide which was sexier, that snakeskin she’d been wearing or her black turtleneck and jeans.
“I didn’t find anything but this box of disks,” Lola said as she came to stand by his chair.
“Put them in the sack, then go out in the hall,” he told her as he removed the wipeout disk from the A drive.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to blow the lock on the safe.” He rose and she grabbed his arm.
“I want to stay here with you.”
“Lola, please go to the hall. I’ll join you in a minute.” He thought she might argue, but in the end she turned and the soft tap tap of her boots echoed off the walls as she left the room. Max grabbed his sack and moved to the closet. He swung the doors open and shone his light on a standard two-foot safe. The thing weighed about two-hundred and seventy-five pounds and had a garden-variety combination lock.
If Max had more time, he would have listened with an electronic eavesdropping device as the tumblers fell into place one by one. But he didn’t have time, and he carefully sprayed a thin line of explosive foam around the circumference of the lock. The sticky foam seeped behind the face of the dial, and he stuck a wad of Semtex explosive, about half the size of a Chiclet, beneath the six. Then he inserted a ten-second nonelectric firing device into the plastique and hauled himself out into the hall. The explosion was louder than he would have liked, but he doubted the neighbors heard anything.
“Come on,” he said to Lola, and didn’t wait for the smoke to clear before he reentered the room. The lock had been blown off, and the door swung easily open. Max shone his light on stacks of cash, boxes of disks, and several stuffed files. Once again he placed his flashlight between his teeth, then riffled through the files. “Bingo,” he said around the flashlight, and handed Lola a pack of photographs, complete with negatives.
“Thank you, God,” she whispered.
“Max,” he reminded her as he shoved everything from the safe to the rucksack.