Upstairs, Lang cut off the bathroom light and was approaching the bed where Gurt was an indistinct pile of covers.
“Who was it on the phone?” she asked as he pulled back the covers to climb in.
“Someone who wanted me to think they had a wrong number.”
“Why would someone want to do that?”
“There was a hum on the line.”
The blankets fell away as Gurt sat up. “A parabolic listening device? That could make wireless electronics like a cordless telephone hum. Someone with the thing trained on the windows to pick up the vibrations of the glass caused by the human voice. It can also pick up both sides of a telephone conversation. They were testing it.”
“That’s why I pulled down our custom-made privacy shields before I got in bed.”
In remodeling the old Ansley Park home, Gurt and Lang had spared no expense to retain its early twentieth-century charm while modernizing a number of features. One of these additions had been a security system that would shock their more conventional neighbors, and one many military bases might envy.
With the past they shared, neither wanted to risk a former enemy’s reappearance. The house contained a complete privacy system designed to thwart the most sophisticated listening devices, in addition to a number of other surprises, such as oak bolted to two-inch case-hardened steel for doors, a central control system that could remotely seal off any part of the house and real-time surveillance cameras.
Gurt turned on the light by her side of the bed. “They called to make sure their device was operational.”
“Not as good as tapping the phone but not as risky, either. And they can follow conversations anywhere within a hundred yards just by focusing the antenna.”
“But why would someone want to…?”
“To enjoy my brilliant wit?”
Gurt’s frown showed that at the moment, she wasn’t enjoying it at all. “What should we do?”
“Not much. Far as I know, there’s no law against eavesdropping as long as no wiretap or trespass is involved. I’d say someone is more interested in learning about us than doing us harm.”
Gurt nodded. “For now.”
“For now.” Lang turned to open the top drawer of the bedside table and verify his Browning HP 9 mm was where he kept it. “At some point they-whoever ‘they’ might be-are going to either find out whatever they want to know or give up. Then they’ll either go away or move to the next step.”
Gurt was crawling out from under the covers.
“Where are you going?” Lang asked.
“Downstairs to make sure all the locks are on and so are the motion and impact detectors.”
“Don’t forget the motion-activated cameras.”
Lang knew the house was as secure as modern technology could make it. He still had a hard time getting to sleep.
From the diary of Louis Etienne Saint Denis, secretary to Major General Napoleon Bonaparte Chateau Malmaison
September 22, 1799 The general will not see his wife. We arrived in Toulon ^ 1 from Egypt near a week past and hastened to Paris and then to this small palace nearly in the shadow of the grandeur that was Versailles before it was sacked by the mob. It is the news received in Egypt that lent wings to our heels, the open secret of the many affairs of the general’s wife, known to all but, it would seem, the general himself. Had not General Junot told him, all would be well . ^ 2 Now, he sulks in the upstairs of this petite palace, which he provided for Josephine, ^ 3 not allowing her to his bed despite the most piteous wailing and tears. The general married this woman but three years past and it has appeared to all close to him the marriage has been unsatisfactory from the start. The widow of an aristocrat who fell victim to the guillotine, she escaped the same fate only by the overthrow of Robespierre. ^ 4 She is the daughter of a plantation owner in the West Indies ^ 5 impoverished by a hurricane. Older than the general by several years, she is far from beautiful but has a charm and grace that, according to gossip, have enslaved many of her lovers. From the beginning, she treated the general with scorn, while he adored her. Now things are upside down, she begging forgiveness while he ignores her. I can do nothing to improve his dark state and have quit trying lest I draw his ire. Even remarking that we will not miss Egypt’s searing heat brought forth nothing more than a glare. Other than meeting daily with his staff and walks in the small garden , ^ 6 the general keeps to himself, reading and dictating letters to me. He has become fascinated by the history of Alexander the Great. Only this morning, he commented to me that a great battle ^ 7 had been fought along the Nile for possession of Alexander’s body, for it had been prophesied that the nation that possessed the remains of the god-king would never be defeated. ^ 8 Though he does not say, he believes himself to be a second Alexander, his conquests in Europe rather than the East. The only constant in the general’s life is the mysterious box he brought from Egypt. It is never out of his sight.
Law offices of Langford Reilly
The next day
Gurt was the only person who regularly called Lang on his cell phone while he was at work and then only if she had reason to short-circuit Sara’s phone-answering duties. So why was she doing it now?
Lang pushed back from his desk, where he had been proofreading a motion to be filed the next day, dragged the cell from a pocket and pressed “start.”
“Yes ma’am?”
“Lang, there is someone in our house.”
It took a second for her meaning to register. She wasn’t referring to Allard, the man who did twice-a-week cleaning, and he couldn’t recall anyone else who had a key. “You mean, like a burglar? In broad daylight?”
Her voice was perfectly calm, the way it always was when she was facing danger. “I took Manfred to kindergarten, went to the grocery store, came home and the red light was blinking.”
Another of the home’s security features was a series of perimeter sensors that illuminated small warning lights discreetly placed beside front and rear doors.
“Any sign of entry? Our locks aren’t the kind that can easily be forced.”
“Whoever is inside the house had to have special equipment. The locks on both doors are intact and I can see no broken windows. Shall I call the police?”
Response time for Atlanta’s emergency services had been the subject of TV and newspaper articles after several houses had burned to the ground and one or two home invasions had taken place between notifying 911 responders and arrival of the police. Callers had an equal chance of being put on hold or having the emergency crews sent to the wrong addresses. The director of the service blamed budget cuts. Most citizens realistically blamed stupidity and the city’s civil-service system, which made death almost the only cause to terminate inept employees.
“Whoever’s in there isn’t going anywhere and he might be armed. I take it you’re not.”
“I do not carry weapons to drive Manfred to kindergarten, no.”
“Call 911. I’m on my way.”
Less than twenty minutes later, Lang parked in front of his home. It must have been a slow day at the 911 number. Already, the driveway was filled with police cruisers, lights flashing and the street filled with curious neighbors. A van bearing the logo ATLANTA POLICE S.W.A.T. TEAM was disgorging a number of figures in paramilitary dress carrying M16 rifles, who were running toward the uniformed officers already surrounding the house. Lang climbed out of his Porsche just as a tall black man in a suit exited an unmarked but obviously official car.
“Well, Mr. Reilly! I shoulda knowed this be your house, the place where there always some kinda trouble.”
Lang smiled. “Good to see you again, too, Detective Morse.”
Morse shook his head as he followed Lang up the path to the front door. “Reckon I should be thankful you called us, someone in your house, instead of you bagging him yourself like usual.”