Part 3 (1/2)

As much as he had come to hate the endless violence with which he had long been a.s.sociated, puzzling out the location of a dangerous adversary intent on eluding capture was a task he found completely absorbing. It was the ultimate challenge. His task was to locate a single human being among the more than six billion inhabitants of the planet, one who could be hiding almost anywhere on the incomprehensibly large surface of the Earth. So how to narrow this down?

He shot by an eighteen-wheeler as if it were standing still, completely lost in thought. His foot was heavy on the gas pedal by nature, and when he didn't actively control himself, his default speed was usually twenty miles per hour over the posted limit. Despite conscious efforts to contain this impulse, he was beginning to feel he was beyond hope and desperately in need of a twelve-step speedaholics program.

Where are you Kira Miller? he said to himself as he changed lanes once again, blowing past two cars and returning to the left lane where he rapidly began pulling away from everyone behind him.

Was she living in a cave somewhere? Maybe. But not likely. He would start by a.s.suming she was still in the States, hiding in plain sight. She was attempting a breathtakingly complex feat of genetic engineering. The report he had read was clear that, at minimum, she would require specialized equipment, cloned genes, ultra-fast DNA sequencers, biological reagents, and genetically identical experimental animals. A terrorist camp in Iran or Afghanistan, or even the best equipped labs in these countries, for that matter, wouldn't be able to readily fulfill her evolving needs in this regard.

Desh decided that regardless of where she was hiding, he would begin by focusing on her computer. No matter how much she may have given up of her past life to elude pursuit, he couldn't believe she'd swear off the Internet, especially given her need to tap into an ocean of biotechnology literature as her research progressed. But there were ways to use computers and the Internet without leaving a trail, and she had already shown an alarming degree of facility with computers when she had modified NeuroCure's security software. Finding a single laptop among untold millions, and then having it happen to be in the lap of Kira Miller when it was found, was like finding a needle in a haystack the size of Texas.

Desh frowned as he realized this a.n.a.logy fell short. The reality was that the particular needle he was after was not only lost in an enormous haystack, but was also mobile, and would be sure to dive even deeper into the haystack if it sensed someone coming.

5.

David Desh was thirty minutes from his apartment when his cell phone vibrated inside his s.h.i.+rt pocket. He lifted it out and stole a quick glance at the screen. Wade Fleming appeared on the display.

He flipped open the phone. ”Hi Wade.”

”Hi David,” came the reply. His boss wasted no time on small talk. ”Do you happen to know a girl named Patricia Swanson?”

Desh's brow furrowed as he searched his memory. ”I don't think so,” he said. He shrugged. ”Of course it's always possible that I met her but just forgot.”

”Then you haven't met her. Believe me, you'd remember,” he said with absolute conviction ”She's a total knockout. I mean like centerfold material,” he added for emphasis.

”Okay,” replied Desh. ”I'll take your word for it. So what about her?”

”She visited the office about an hour ago. Asked for you by name.”

”Did she claim she knows me?”

”No. She says she's vacationing at a few choice resort locations around the country for the next month, thinks she might have a stalker, and wants protection. Said she saw your picture and bio on our website and wants you a.s.signed to her. I told her you had a busy month lined up, and offered up Dean Padgett.” A note of disapproval entered Fleming's voice. ”She wouldn't have it. She wanted you, and she was prepared to pay extra to make sure she got you.” He paused. ”Frankly, David, I think you might be the one who has a stalker, not her. She's probably a bored, spoiled rich girl out for a thrill. What greater thrill than seducing your bodyguard? Must watch too many movies. Bottom line is that I got the feeling she sees you as more of a hired boytoy than a bodyguard.” He paused. ”I was tempted to tell her you were gay and offer to take the job myself,” he said wryly.

Desh shook his head and a small smile crept across his face. Jim Connelly had promised to clear his calendar, and he must have had quite a laugh when he had hatched this scheme. He sure hadn't wasted any time setting it in motion.

”So when do I start?”

”Tomorrow morning, if you take the job.”

”If I take the job.”

”I told her I needed your okay.”

”Really? That's a first.”

”Look, David, as hot as she is, I'm not running an escort service here. I want to make sure you know what you're getting into. I've seen her, and it's hard to imagine how any man could resist her for long if that's her game plan.” He paused. ”On the other hand, she is paying top dollar, and this could be legitimate. It may be that your Delta Force credentials are what impressed her and not your friendly smile. But given my doubts, I won't insist you take this.”

”Thanks, Wade. But if I have to risk the attention of a beautiful woman,” he said with mock bravado, ”that's just what I'll have to do. For the agency's sake, of course.”

”Of course,” repeated Fleming wryly. ”You're loyalty to the agency is legendary, David. I'll e-mail you the a.s.signment details and where to find her so you can get started.” There was a long pause on the line. ”And I want you to know, while the rest of us are dodging bullets and laser-guided missiles protecting hairy fat guys, we'll be thinking of you lying on the beach with a centerfold modela”dodging those dangerous UV rays.”

”Don't mention it, Wade. That's just the kind of team player I am.”

”Well, I don't want to have to worry about you, David,” said Fleming sardonically, ”so be sure to use a good sunblock. SPF 30 at least.”

”Good tip,” said Desh in amus.e.m.e.nt.

”You know what's really annoying about this one?”

”That she didn't ask for you?”

There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. ”Aside from that,” said Fleming good-naturedly. ”What's really annoying is that you'll probably be bringing in more money to the agency than anyone else this month. Maybe I should open up an escort service.” Fleming paused. ”Take care, David,” he said signing off, but couldn't help adding, ”you lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” before hanging up the phone.

6.

David Desh rapped on the stained wooden door, just below its peephole and above the cheap bra.s.s ”14D” affixed to it. He had removed his laptop that morning from its docking station in his apartment and it was carefully tucked under his left arm. He was wearing Dockers, a blue polo s.h.i.+rt, and a tan windbreaker that concealed his H&K .45 semiautomatic. A much smaller SIG-Sauer 9-millimeter was shoved in his pants at the small of his back, and identical, sheathed combat knives were strapped to each of his lower legs.

Kira Miller was working with terrorist groups who would stop at nothing to protect her. Groups who celebrated death rather than life, and who would welcome the chance to remove Desh's head with a hacksawa”while he was still using ita”if it would further their cause. The closer he got to her, the more dangerous it would be for him. Perhaps these precautions were premature, but why take chances?

Desh heard movement from inside the apartment.

”David Desh?” called a voice questioningly from behind the particleboard door, loudly enough for Desh to hear.

”That's right,” confirmed Desh.

”Adam Campbell's friend?”

”In the flesh.”

Desh's friend Adam, an ex-soldier who was now a private investigator, had set up this meeting for him the night before, right after he had returned home from his meeting with Connelly.

”Do you have my retainer?”

In answer, Desh removed 60 hundred-dollar bills from an envelope and fanned them out in front of the peephole. There was a rustle behind the door as a chain was unhooked and a loud click as a dead-bolt lock was turned, followed by the door creaking open.

Desh entered the small, cluttered apartment. It bore the heavy musk of prolonged human habitation that Desh knew could be helped by an open window and the inflow of crisp, autumn air. Four high-end computers straddled a heavy gla.s.s-topped desk, all connected to each other through a spaghetti of makes.h.i.+ft wiring. On top of the desk sat a wireless keyboard and three high-definition, plasma monitors. Hanging on the wall above was a framed placard that read: HACKER-CRATIC OATH.

I swear to use my awesome powers for good, not evil.

Other than this and a large black-and-white poster of Albert Einstein sticking out his tongue, the entire living area consisted of the desk, a single couch, a plasma television, and a small kitchen.

Desh appraised the man in front of him. His name was Matt Griffin, and he was a bear of a man. He was at least 6 foot 5 and 300 pounds, with a bushy brown beard and long, wavy haira”almost a cross between a man and a Wookie. Despite his enormous size he had a harmless air about him that made him completely non-threatening. While his bulk and appearance could quickly lead one to the conclusion he was a dim caveman, his words were spoken with the intellectual affect of an ivy-league professor. Desh handed him the money and waited patiently as he counted to sixty.

Griffin smiled affably. ”Okay, Mr. Desh, I'm at your service for a period of one week. What can I do for you?”

Fleming Executive Protection had its share of computer experts, but Desh couldn't use them for this a.s.signment, and he was supposed to be in playboy fantasyland anyway. Matt Griffin was said to be the best in the business. He usually worked for corporate clients doing fairly mundane tasks, but from time to time he helped private investigators if their cause was right, fully prepared to engage in illegal hacking, a victimless crime, if it could result in finding a missing person or stopping a violent criminal. Desh's friend Adam had worked with Griffin several times and had been effusive in his praise for the man, who apparently took his hacker-cratic oath quite seriously, and would only work with someone if he had a.s.surances their intentions were honorable. Adam had vouched for Desh and told Griffin he could trust him implicitly.