“Of course, you do,” she said. “What do you need?”
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Does it matter? Within arm’s reach of more processing power than the U.S. Government will admit exists outside its own server banks.”
Sam shook his head. Elise was a brilliant young computer geek who had been raised as some kind of secret hacker weapon for the CIA, only to thumb her nose at the position. She was sharp enough to make it stick, too.
“Good, you’re going to need it.”
He explained the situation briefly, touching on the bomb, the crash site, Alex Goodson’s father’s death and his unexpected inheritance from his grandfather. He detailed posting the map, the treasure hunters, the mini-sub, the message within, and his recent visit to Alex Goodson's gamer’s paradise.
“And?” she said finally. “You want me to hack into Alex Goodson’s computer servers and see what games he’s playing?”
“Yes, but I also need you to find out if there is a connection between William Goodson and my family.”
“You think your dad might be involved in something he shouldn’t be?”
Sam made a slight grimace. His father, Senator James Reilly, was smart yet single-minded in the games he played. He considered that the most important thing in life was to rack up more points than anyone else — the points in this case meaning accumulated wealth. “This does kind of sound like the thing he might somehow be involved in, doesn’t it?”
“No comment. I’ll check on the Goodson family.”
“And I’ll call my father.”
He ended the call and searched his cell phone directory for his dad’s number. Finding it a moment later, he pressed the call button.
“Son,” James Reilly said in a warm, appreciative tone. “What’s going on? D.C.’s on lockdown and Tom Bower says that you left for Reagan National Airport like a bat out of hell a few hours ago.”
“Dad,” Sam said, “I don’t have time to explain.”
“And?”
“And I need to know if you’re involved in something before I tear it wide open.”
Sam heard a soft hmm over the phone. “You’re starting to think like a politician, Sam. I’m proud of you.”
Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to take that as a compliment. “Never mind that. What do you know about William Goodson?”
“Who?”
“World War II, German bomber pilot, originally named Wilhelm Gutwein.”
“Nothing.”
“And you’re not involved in anything having to do with a nuclear bomb found in an old gold mine site along the Great Falls of the Potomac?”
“You found a nuclear bomb within the Maryland National Park?” James gasped incredulously. The shocked tone in his father’s voice told him everything he needed to know.
“Thanks, Dad. Call you back soon with more information. Bye.”
He put his phone in his pocket and chuckled. It wasn’t every day he was able to surprise his old man.
Chapter Seventeen
Elise called back a few minutes later. “There’s nothing. At least nothing that was ever documented anywhere.”
Sam cursed under his breath. “You’re sure?”
“Lots of information but nothing that connects the Goodson’s to the Reilly clan.”
“For example?”
“The Gutwein family was from Kassel, in west-central Germany. Loads of industrial sites there. They made tanks and planes and train engines. Consequently, the place was bombed for three years straight.”
“Go on.”
“Except for Wilhelm Gutwein, the entire family was killed during a British bombing raid in October of 1943. All burned to death in a firestorm of exploding fuel.”
“Losing your family is a hell of a motive. It certainly explains why Goodson agreed to bomb D.C.”
“True, but the original attack wasn’t simply revenge. This was Germany’s last chance at winning the war — or at least not losing it.”
“Sure. Even so, it doesn’t tell me why he’s targeting me.”
“Nope. Unless it has nothing to do with the Goodson/Gutwein family, and it’s one of the many, many other people that you’ve pissed off over the years.”
“I don’t know, Elise. This sounded kind of personal.”
She sighed. “Um… what I said. All right, I’ll keep on it.”
The Highway Patrol car pulled into the private terminal at JFK. The place was used by wealthy business people, whose private jets were waiting for them to arrive. In this case, a military jet was waiting to transfer Sam back to Ronald Reagan airport.
Sam thanked the Officer and closed the door.
Immediately afterward, his cell phone started to ring. He glanced at the screen — it was an unlisted number.
He answered it.
“Sam Reilly,” he answered, scanning the high-rise buildings of Manhattan in the distance. “Who is this?”
“Someone who’d like to play a little game with you.”
From the first word, Sam knew who it was — in theory, anyway. The voice had been garbled by a voice-scrambler.
The bad guy — if it was indeed a guy — was about to make another move.
Elise had set up his phone with a menu of high-tech tricks years ago. Sam now punched in the code that activated a voice recorder and flagged Elise’s systems to start tracing the call.
“All right,” Sam said. “I’m ready to play.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Good,” replied the garbled voice. “But I’m going to need you to prove it.”
Sam looked around. His aircraft was waiting on the tarmac. “All right. How?”
“Your cell phone, Mr. Reilly. It has to go.”
“Okay. I’ll drop it in a trash can.”
“No. I’m watching. Hold it out directly in front of you.”
Sam looked around, then stiff-armed, he did as he was told.
With a whizzing sound, a bicycle courier raced by — snatching the phone out of Sam’s right hand.
Sam stood up and started running after the guy. The back of the messenger’s shirt read VELO COURIERS. Within less than a minute, the guy had disappeared around a corner. Sam dodged pedestrians on the sidewalk, ducking into traffic when he could.
But by the time he reached the corner, the courier was long gone.
Clever.
Sam turned around, only to bump into a guy in a red polo shirt wearing a matching red hat.
“Sam Reilly?” the stranger asked.
“Yes.”
“Your order.” A plastic bag was shoved into Sam’s hands. The guy turned around and dodged his way across the sidewalk to the front of a sandwich shop.
Carl’s Hoagies.
Checking inside the bag, Sam found it contained a well-wrapped long roll filled with chicken, cheese, and salad — and a phone in a freezer baggie. The sandwich was still warm.
He pulled out the cell as he pushed his way through the crowds toward the sub shop.
As soon as he entered the shop, he froze.
The staff here didn’t wear red shirts and hats. They wore green with Carl’s Hoagies embroidered on the caps.
“Did a guy in a red shirt and hat just buy a sandwich here?”
“Sure,” said the middle age woman at the counter.
“Did you happen to get his name?”
“No.”
“Do you have a record of his card transaction?” Sam asked, feeling hopeful.
“Paid cash.” The cashier frowned. “What’s this about?”
“Oh, he dropped his sandwich and left his cell phone in the bag,” Sam said.
The woman squinted at him. Sam held up the clear bag containing the phone.
“That’s weird.”
“Here’s my number, in case he shows up.” Sam gave her Elise’s number. He didn’t expect to get a call, but it was better to have all bases covered.