only
makes things worse.” Glenda pinched the bridge of her nose. Did
she just sound like her mother? Oh
my god , she
thought. If her sanity was to survive the day, this conversation had
to end now. “I have to go, okay? I’ve got an interview.”
“ Glenny,
are you sure you’re all right?” Louise asked. She wanted
desperately to whisper into the phone that she would bring her one of
her father's old rifles. The one he used to kill the big animals.
“ Mom,
I know it’s a sad statement, but these things happen sometimes.
Trust me. I’m fine.” Not entirely false, but not entirely
true either. “Please don’t worry, okay?”
There
was a queen-sized sigh and Louise said, “ Okay
honey, if you say so.”
“ I
do. I’ll try to call you later. Tell Daddy to put down the
vodka.”
“ Okay,
sweetie.”
“ Bye,
Mom.”
Glenda
hung up, knowing her mother would not be able to say goodbye. Louise
hated that word. Rarely, could she bring herself to use it. Most of
the time, she just said things like “later” or “much
love,” and left it at that. If she ever said “goodbye”
it was a sure sign for Glenda to keep talking.
In
the motel’s parking lot, a blue antique Camaro coasted into a
space and its engine killed. The thin, overly-tanned man behind the
wheel sat casually with puckered lips, looking into the rearview
mirror and stroking his hair. Hobson had a habit of primping a bit
before a job. When finished, he leaned over and took a small black
case, about the size of a thick novel, from the glove compartment. He
rested it in his lap and smoothed his hand over it as if caressing a
woman’s buttocks, his favorite part of the female anatomy. He
flipped open its lid, exposing a digital organizer and a fanciful,
pearl-handled hunting knife, recessed in a molded case. He gazed back
at the mirror at the first hint of movement.
A
gorgeous brown-haired woman with a long, curvy frame exited her motel
room and headed for a blue Honda Civic parked not more than twenty
feet away. She was wearing business attire, a black skirt, dark blue
blouse and a white blazer. She massaged her neck, looking fatigued. Poor thing. It
looked like it had been a long night for her; she probably hadn’t
gotten much sleep. That might make it all the easier though, Hobson
figured, since he had heard she was feisty. He examined a detailed
holograph of the woman in his organizer. He seemed a tad annoyed with
the fact that she was leaving the room, just as he was arriving. But
that wasn’t his fault. Gabriel took his sweet time deciding
that since Hobson was already in for a penny, he might as well go for
the pound. All Hobson would need would be a few minutes of alone
time, isolated, in a dark or at least poorly lit location, and away
from surveillance. Such spots were rare in the city this time of day,
but not completely off the map, depending on where she was headed. He
waited for her to start her car and get far enough ahead before
pulling out.
Chapter 13
Washington, D.C., August 26,
10:42 A.M.
In
a small motel just a stone's throw from Mt. Vernon square, Ross
entered the room, closed the door behind him and engaged the locks in
one seamless movement. He was disgusted with himself. The fleabag
motels were all starting to run together in a mishmash of
unaccomplished goals. He let his backpack slide from his shoulder and
caught the strap in his hand. How
far I’ve fallen, he thought. The very notion of
trifling with Case Western Reserve University's servers as a PHANTOM attack left him dead inside . The
technicalities alone rendered the entire exercise virtually pointless
and wholly uninspired. The only reason to even proceed with such a
waste of energy was if he'd given up on taking out BioCore
altogether—and there was no chance in hell of that happening.
Ross
went straight to the room's desk, extracted his fliptop from the
backpack and established his secured connection. A connection icon
flashed on the fliptop's cover and
makes things worse.” Glenda pinched the bridge of her nose. Did
she just sound like her mother? Oh
my god , she
thought. If her sanity was to survive the day, this conversation had
to end now. “I have to go, okay? I’ve got an interview.”
“ Glenny,
are you sure you’re all right?” Louise asked. She wanted
desperately to whisper into the phone that she would bring her one of
her father's old rifles. The one he used to kill the big animals.
“ Mom,
I know it’s a sad statement, but these things happen sometimes.
Trust me. I’m fine.” Not entirely false, but not entirely
true either. “Please don’t worry, okay?”
There
was a queen-sized sigh and Louise said, “ Okay
honey, if you say so.”
“ I
do. I’ll try to call you later. Tell Daddy to put down the
vodka.”
“ Okay,
sweetie.”
“ Bye,
Mom.”
Glenda
hung up, knowing her mother would not be able to say goodbye. Louise
hated that word. Rarely, could she bring herself to use it. Most of
the time, she just said things like “later” or “much
love,” and left it at that. If she ever said “goodbye”
it was a sure sign for Glenda to keep talking.
In
the motel’s parking lot, a blue antique Camaro coasted into a
space and its engine killed. The thin, overly-tanned man behind the
wheel sat casually with puckered lips, looking into the rearview
mirror and stroking his hair. Hobson had a habit of primping a bit
before a job. When finished, he leaned over and took a small black
case, about the size of a thick novel, from the glove compartment. He
rested it in his lap and smoothed his hand over it as if caressing a
woman’s buttocks, his favorite part of the female anatomy. He
flipped open its lid, exposing a digital organizer and a fanciful,
pearl-handled hunting knife, recessed in a molded case. He gazed back
at the mirror at the first hint of movement.
A
gorgeous brown-haired woman with a long, curvy frame exited her motel
room and headed for a blue Honda Civic parked not more than twenty
feet away. She was wearing business attire, a black skirt, dark blue
blouse and a white blazer. She massaged her neck, looking fatigued. Poor thing. It
looked like it had been a long night for her; she probably hadn’t
gotten much sleep. That might make it all the easier though, Hobson
figured, since he had heard she was feisty. He examined a detailed
holograph of the woman in his organizer. He seemed a tad annoyed with
the fact that she was leaving the room, just as he was arriving. But
that wasn’t his fault. Gabriel took his sweet time deciding
that since Hobson was already in for a penny, he might as well go for
the pound. All Hobson would need would be a few minutes of alone
time, isolated, in a dark or at least poorly lit location, and away
from surveillance. Such spots were rare in the city this time of day,
but not completely off the map, depending on where she was headed. He
waited for her to start her car and get far enough ahead before
pulling out.
Chapter 13
Washington, D.C., August 26,
10:42 A.M.
In
a small motel just a stone's throw from Mt. Vernon square, Ross
entered the room, closed the door behind him and engaged the locks in
one seamless movement. He was disgusted with himself. The fleabag
motels were all starting to run together in a mishmash of
unaccomplished goals. He let his backpack slide from his shoulder and
caught the strap in his hand. How
far I’ve fallen, he thought. The very notion of
trifling with Case Western Reserve University's servers as a PHANTOM attack left him dead inside . The
technicalities alone rendered the entire exercise virtually pointless
and wholly uninspired. The only reason to even proceed with such a
waste of energy was if he'd given up on taking out BioCore
altogether—and there was no chance in hell of that happening.
Ross
went straight to the room's desk, extracted his fliptop from the
backpack and established his secured connection. A connection icon
flashed on the fliptop's cover and
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