“Right.”
“Only, sending out burglars and thugs is pretty hard-core for telecoms guys.”
“These were no ordinary telecoms guys, Marc. They were guys with billions to win, and everything to lose. And consider this. If they were bribing or blackmailing a White House insider to spill government secrets, they’d already crossed a pretty major line. Once you’ve crossed a line like that, where do you stop?”
“I don’t know. I guess—it’s just that I worked with these guys. I’ve known Roger LeBrock for years.”
“Maybe you don’t know LeBrock as well as you thought. But bad as it looks for him and the company, there’s still no proof this virus came from the White House. Information—yes. Virus—no.”
“It must have come with the email.”
“Then why wasn’t AmeriTel’s corporate network infected?”
“It would have been. But by the time Homeland Security went to check, it had been cleaned.”
“How? Who by? When? You can’t do that kind of thing remotely. And even if you could, you’d still need someone on-site to look for any machines that were offline for maintenance or whatever.”
“Like my laptop.”
“That’s completely circumstantial. We have no proof. So how about this? Go to the FBI, instead. I know a guy who works there. Cooper Demonbruen. He took a college course I was teaching. I could feed him the corruption angle. Let him run with that. Homeland Security is already chasing down the virus, after all. And if we come up with anything else, we’ll pass it on when we’re sure it’s for real.”
“No.”
“You want to go to Homeland first?” He started pacing again. “I just don’t think—”
“I mean, we’re not going to anyone. Not yet. I need insurance first. Something that proves I’m clean. I’ve seen how Homeland works. It’s a machine. It only cares about its own priorities, and any little guys who get in the way—i.e., me—get rolled over and crushed. The FBI’s probably the same. That’s why I asked for your help with the virus in the first place.”
“The virus—of course. Why don’t we hold fire for twenty-four hours? See what my guy comes up with?”
“We should see what’s he got. But I’m not sitting on my hands for another day. Not when there’s another trail to follow.”
“What other trail?”
“Roger LeBrock.” I stood up and checked I had my keys. “I’m going to see what he can tell me about his White House buddy.”
“Why should LeBrock tell you anything?”
“That ticking time bomb? I’m going to drop it down his shorts. And, Karl? One last question before I go. How come you weren’t surprised just then, when I let slip that Carolyn had walked out on me?”
WEIMANN’S EXPRESSION OF GUILT taunted me throughout the hour’s drive to LeBrock’s house. But when I arrived, I found myself face-to-face with a far bigger distraction.
The car at the end of LeBrock’s driveway wasn’t his.
It was Carolyn’s.
Friday. Early evening.
I’D THOUGHT CAROLYN WAS THE BEDROCK MY LIFE WAS GROUNDED on. Instead, she was quicksand. How could I have misjudged her so badly? Or had I brought everything on myself, by sabotaging her career all those years ago?
In the absence of answers, my mind filled with clichés. Fish, and sea. Time, and healing. Pastures, and green. And then something else. An echo from a management course I’d been on, years ago. About assumptions, and the danger of making them. I got out of the car and headed toward the entrance to LeBrock’s driveway. Our marriage was on the line. I owed it to Carolyn not to jump to conclusions. And I had business to discuss with LeBrock, either way.
His house was hard to sneak up on, as it was made entirely of metal pillars and glass, like a high-tech cross between a pyramid and a Swiss chalet. It was four stories high, and each one grew successively shallower to allow every upstairs room to have a balcony. The roof was steeply pitched with a gap in the center, and the two sections appeared to be hovering magically above the walls. It was the kind of place I’d only ever seen as a backdrop for fashion shoots or high-end car advertisements, so it was a surprise to find that someone might actually live here. Especially someone I knew.
And now, my wife?
I drew level with the rear of LeBrock’s black Mercedes, and stopped. There was nothing else between me and the house to hide behind, and every window in the place seemed to be blazing with light. That killed any hope of a stealthy approach, so I had to make do with a direct assault on the front door. I broke cover and strode straight along the path leading to it, but still couldn’t resist looking into the rooms I passed on the way.
There was a kitchen, full of stainless-steel appliances and counters that were like trolleys on wheels. A den with a horseshoe of leather couches facing a giant TV on a metal stand, like an oversize easel. And a huge living room.
Normally, I’d have been looking at the furniture and scoping out any art on the walls—if there’d been any walls—but that day, all I could focus on were the people. LeBrock, slumped in an Eames lounge chair, like mine but in the standard walnut and black. And Carolyn, perched on the matching ottoman at his feet. As I watched she leaned forward and took LeBrock’s hand in both of hers. I couldn’t see her face, but it was clear from LeBrock’s expression they were staring into each other’s eyes. Any moment now she was going to lean forward, and then they’d kiss. I knew it. Because she used to make that exact same move on me.
I hammered on the glass, watched them spring apart, then continued to the front door. It took an eternity for LeBrock to show his face. And when he did appear, he just stood in front of me, pale and silent. I was looking at the man who’d fired me. Bribed government officials. Made a fortune cheating in the bandwidth auction. Sent thugs to burglarize my home. And had links to a computer virus that threatened the security of the nation. There were serious questions I should have asked him. But after what I’d just seen, none of that mattered.
I drove my fist into LeBrock’s face. Hard. Spikes of pain shot through my knuckles and into my wrist. LeBrock staggered back, arms flailing. He slumped down on one knee. I stepped in, ready to finish him off. And heard a car engine fire up. Behind me.
It was Carolyn’s.
She was running out on LeBrock. Just like she’d done to me.
This time, I went after her. I left LeBrock on the floor in his hallway and ran to my car. I raced down every street in the neighborhood. I backtracked, every time the trail went cold. Checked people’s driveways. Their yards. Chased every shadow that looked remotely like Carolyn’s BMW. But after forty minutes, I had to admit defeat. I had no idea what her destination could be.
Her head start had only been a few seconds, but she’d made them count.
CAROLYN WAS GONE, but there was one last connection still in play. Weimann hadn’t blinked when I let slip that she’d left me. Which meant he already knew. Which meant he’d been in touch with her. Recently. Whether it was just to buy my secrets from her, or whether there was anything more R-rated about it, they’d been in touch since Monday.
As I drove back to his house, my thoughts about Weimann were steadily replaced by a flurry of doubts. How much could I trust him? How long had he been stealing my work? Had he been sleeping with Carolyn, too? Or just paying her to spy for him? Had it been a mistake to ask for his help with the virus? Why wouldn’t he let me meet his contact? And what about his threats to call the police on me? I’d been able to talk him out of it earlier, face-to-face, but what about while I was gone? Would I get back to his house and walk straight into a room full of detectives?
My nerves weren’t helped by the police cruiser that raced up behind me, a mile or so from Weimann’s street. It gave me a burst of its siren and a flash from its light bar, convincing me I was about to be arrested again. But a second later it pulled around me and sped away. Then a second cruiser appeared, with an ambulance laboring to keep up in its wake.