“Look,” he said after a few minutes of searching. “I’m feeling a bit sick.” The truth was that he could barely hang onto a thread of thought.
“I’ll bet,” chuckled Johansen. “After a night in that trunk. How long since you ate anything?”
“More than a day. And that was just Nog’s stale snacks. Too bad he didn’t keep a stash in the trunk.”
“I know my search utilities better than you do, anyway,” said Vasquez, sliding into his place as he staggered out of the chair. She bent forward with a look of concentration.
Ray smiled and Johansen caught him. They exchanged knowing glances. She had taken over the legwork on this one. Johansen led him into Ingles’ kitchen and they raided the place for a quick snack. They made what his wife Sarah would have referred to as “bachelor sandwiches”. Two pieces of bread and four slices of lunchmeat, slapped together. No condiments, or any other sissy stuff. It was Spartan fare, Ray reflected, but filling.
“Just don’t tell anyone that we did this,” said Johansen as they wolfed down stolen sandwiches.
“This bastard ruined my life. The least I can do is eat some of his food,” muttered Ray bitterly. He decided he almost liked Johansen. The man could certainly eat. No less than four wads of bread and meat vanished into his broad mouth.
After a few minutes, they went back into the den to hover over Vasquez’s shoulder. “What have you got?” asked Ray.
“There was nothing in the e-mail directory of any value-except for one zip file that I’m trying to get into.”
Ray examined the screen. There appeared to be a fairly large compressed file in the e-mail directory. It was unreadable until the compression process was reversed. The problem was that there was yet another password attached to this particular file. This password could not easily be bypassed.
Again and again they tried one password after another. The process was known as “hacking”. Finally, after about half an hour, Ray watched as Vasquez typed in the password: “Sarah”.
Immediately, data spewed out on the screen. Ray blinked in alarm. What were the implications of that password? How had she known?
“My wife’s name?” he asked aloud.
Vasquez didn’t look at him. “This message looks good. It appears to have the word Santa in it.”
“ Sarah was the password?” he demanded. “Why?”
“Look, Dr. Vance,” said Vasquez. “If you’re right, we need every second to work on finding your son.”
He stared at her, knowing she was avoiding his questions. “Just tell me in one sentence then: Why?”
She looked back to the keyboard and brought up a screen full of text.
Ray looked to Johansen. The man’s face was troubled. Ray knew what he was thinking: they were both men, and they had just eaten a sandwich together. Did that mean you owed a guy something?
“You should ask your wife about that one, Vance,” he rumbled. Vasquez stiffened at his words, but said nothing.
Ray turned back to the screen and tried to put it all out of his mind. What did it matter? The guy was dead anyway. He would figure it out later. Right now he wanted to find his son.
Things weren’t so simple, however. Somewhere, in the darkest corner of his mind, an annoying, chattering monkey would not be quelled, would not be silenced so easily. What if she caused all this? screamed the monkey. What if your precious wife has been a traitor? What if she has brought about all this hellish misfortune upon her family? What then, Dr. Raymond Vance?
Vasquez was saying something. She sounded excited. Ray blinked and tried to focus. “What?” he asked.
“There’s a letter here. A letter to you,” she said. “It says something about buried treasure. And about a man named Spurlock.”
“Buried treasure?” asked Ray. Even as he worked to read the lengthy note, a popping sound came from the driveway as gravel spit from beneath rolling tires. Several cars pulled up. Moments later a tall black man in a dark coat strode into the house with the air of a father that has discovered a pack of naughty children. Behind him came his partner and four sheriff’s deputies in kakhi uniforms.
He lifted a finger and extended it to the length of his very long arm. He aimed the finger like a pistol at the computer they all huddled around.
“Get away from that machine!” he roared.
… 5 Hours and Counting…
Ray turned his head away from the man and continued reading the e-mail message as fast as he could. He would ignore the intruder, he decided. He needed all the information that he could get. His eyes scanned the text as quickly and cleanly as he could. What he read there made his blood run cold.
Behind him, a debate raged.
“We are investigating a federal case here, agent Verr, and we would appreciate your cooperation in this matter,” shouted back agent Vasquez.
“What case?” demanded Verr. “You’ve been removed from this case, and now you’re interfering in my investigation. You’re tampering and possibly destroying valuable evidence, Vasquez!”
“We are investigating a missing person’s case, namely that of Justin Vance, Dr. Vance’s son.”
Even though he was reading and ignoring, Ray had to admire the hint of triumph in her voice.
“Vance’s kid?” Verr’s face twisted into a scowl with deeper furrows than usual. “How the hell did you swing that?”
“The same way that you managed to steal our case in the first place, I imagine.”
Verr ignored the jibe and seemed to notice Ray for the first time. “You mean to tell me this is Vance? My prime suspect for homicide, international computer vandalism and a list of other crimes is just sitting here, doing as he pleases with evidence that is doubtless key to his conviction?”
“No, sir-” she began.
“Have you lost your mind, Vasquez?” demanded Verr.
“As I said, we are investigating a federal case, and I would appreciate your cooperation.”
Verr held up one finger to silence her. He snapped open his cell phone and glared as he punched in a string of numbers. “Thirty seconds. Within thirty seconds, I’ll have you out of here, Vasquez.”
He began talking quickly into his phone. The room was now crowded with men in uniforms looking uncertain and uncomfortable.
Vasquez squeezed Ray’s shoulder and whispered into his ear, “Read fast and try to make a back up on the floppy.”
Ray did exactly that, but before he could finish copying the file, a large, long finger reached down and snapped the power off.
“What the hell-” protested Vasquez. Verr handed her the phone with a shit-eating grin.
“I believe your supervisor wishes to have a word with you, agent Vasquez.”
She took the phone with ill-grace. After a few minutes of rolling her eyes and sputtering, she handed the phone back to Verr.
“Come on,” she said over her shoulder to Johansen and Vance. “We’re taking you in, Dr. Vance.”
“Hold it,” said Verr. “I’ll take him back. I want to make sure that he doesn’t take any further detours.”
“He’s my prisoner, and you’ll just have to wait, Verr,” she growled back as they left.
Ray stumbled through the crowded room of unsmiling faces. They all thought him a murderer and a vandal of unprecedented proportions, but it didn’t matter. All he could think of was what he had read on Ingles’ computer screen.
… 2 Hours and Counting…
He told them almost immediately about the bomb. He wasn’t sure exactly when it would go off, but he knew it would be soon and it would be bad. He found it hard to believe that Nog had built such a thing, and that Ingles’ had sponsored its construction.
It didn’t matter to Ray that the bomb would be a bloodless one. The bomb would cause an enormous amount of economic loss, of course, but that didn’t seem to be the worst of it to Ray. The worst would be the loss of so many thousands, millions-even billions of hours of effort on the part of so many people.