We started rendering graphics for the history program. But the phones have been ringing off the hook. Schools all over the country have been calling.”
“Yeah,” Harley grumbled. “Great for business, bad for work. It’s driving us crazy. You want to play secretary today, honey? You could sit on my lap . . .”
“Shut up, Harley,” Annie snipped, pouring herself a mug of coffee at the credenza. There was a tantalizing plate of cookies just sitting there, looking sadly neglected, the poor things. She plucked one up between two pink nails that matched her dress exactly. “Did anybody get an e-mail from Grace this morning?” she mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate and pecans.
Harley and Roadrunner shook their heads.
“Neither did I. This is the third day in a row I haven’t gotten an e-mail from Grace.”
“Maybe they’re having trouble with the satellite link,” Roadrunner suggested.
“Maybe.” As Annie situated herself at her desk, the phone started ringing. “I’ve got it. Monkeewrench, Annie Belinsky speaking.”
The voice on the other end said, “Annie, don’t say a word.”
She almost squealed Grace’s name. The e-mails had been great, but hearing her voice after so many months almost made her make a mistake. When Grace said, “Don’t say a word,” you clamped your lips closed and just listened. Annie put her on speaker so Harley and Roadrunner could hear, and waited.
“You’re going to get an overnight package within the hour. Do exactly what it says.”
Annie nodded as if Grace could see it. “Yes” was all she said, then the connection was broken.
She and Harley and Roadrunner looked at one another for a moment, then Harley kicked his chair out from under him. “I’ll go downstairs and open the gate.”
“What do you think it is?” Roadrunner asked quietly after Harley had left.
Annie didn’t raise her eyes. “Nothing good.”
When Harley came back upstairs with a FedEx envelope, Annie snatched it out of his hand and ripped it open. There were flash drives, two enlarged photocopies of Florida driver’s licenses, a picture of John Smith, and a note in Grace’s handwriting.
Licenses belong to two men who boarded our boat last night at sea and tried to kill John. I had to shoot them. They had John’s photo with them; he’s a target. Flashes are a mirror of his hard drive. Find out who and why. I’m on my way home. John’s off the grid.
The three of them stood in stunned silence, reading and rereading the note, as if the contents would change if they just kept looking at it.
“Jesus.” Harley was the first of them to say anything. “This is completely freaking me out on so many levels, I don’t even know where to start.”
Roadrunner was pale. Annie thought he looked like a quaking aspen that a stiff breeze could topple. “Poor Grace,” he finally murmured. “She had to kill two people.”
Annie nodded sympathetically because she knew exactly how it felt to kill somebody. She’d learned how hard it was at the age of seventeen, and Grace was dealing with all of that now. But the experience had given Annie a resilience and a cold pragmatism that neither Roadrunner nor Harley seemed to possess, because they were just standing there dieseling in idle like two slack-jawed idiots.
She grabbed the flash drives and shoved them into Harley’s hands. “You upload John’s hard drive into the Beast—that’s your baby.”
The Beast was a linked processing cluster of computers that performed like a supercomputer, and among the many tasks it could handle was finding, sorting, comparing, and collating massive amounts of information. The only trouble was, it was occupied at the moment. “Annie, that thing is in the middle of rendering graphics for the American history thing right now, and it’s using just about all the computing power we have. We have to shut it down and back it up before we even start to enter new data and repurpose it to search.”
“Well,
“Yeah,” Harley grumbled. “Great for business, bad for work. It’s driving us crazy. You want to play secretary today, honey? You could sit on my lap . . .”
“Shut up, Harley,” Annie snipped, pouring herself a mug of coffee at the credenza. There was a tantalizing plate of cookies just sitting there, looking sadly neglected, the poor things. She plucked one up between two pink nails that matched her dress exactly. “Did anybody get an e-mail from Grace this morning?” she mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate and pecans.
Harley and Roadrunner shook their heads.
“Neither did I. This is the third day in a row I haven’t gotten an e-mail from Grace.”
“Maybe they’re having trouble with the satellite link,” Roadrunner suggested.
“Maybe.” As Annie situated herself at her desk, the phone started ringing. “I’ve got it. Monkeewrench, Annie Belinsky speaking.”
The voice on the other end said, “Annie, don’t say a word.”
She almost squealed Grace’s name. The e-mails had been great, but hearing her voice after so many months almost made her make a mistake. When Grace said, “Don’t say a word,” you clamped your lips closed and just listened. Annie put her on speaker so Harley and Roadrunner could hear, and waited.
“You’re going to get an overnight package within the hour. Do exactly what it says.”
Annie nodded as if Grace could see it. “Yes” was all she said, then the connection was broken.
She and Harley and Roadrunner looked at one another for a moment, then Harley kicked his chair out from under him. “I’ll go downstairs and open the gate.”
“What do you think it is?” Roadrunner asked quietly after Harley had left.
Annie didn’t raise her eyes. “Nothing good.”
When Harley came back upstairs with a FedEx envelope, Annie snatched it out of his hand and ripped it open. There were flash drives, two enlarged photocopies of Florida driver’s licenses, a picture of John Smith, and a note in Grace’s handwriting.
Licenses belong to two men who boarded our boat last night at sea and tried to kill John. I had to shoot them. They had John’s photo with them; he’s a target. Flashes are a mirror of his hard drive. Find out who and why. I’m on my way home. John’s off the grid.
The three of them stood in stunned silence, reading and rereading the note, as if the contents would change if they just kept looking at it.
“Jesus.” Harley was the first of them to say anything. “This is completely freaking me out on so many levels, I don’t even know where to start.”
Roadrunner was pale. Annie thought he looked like a quaking aspen that a stiff breeze could topple. “Poor Grace,” he finally murmured. “She had to kill two people.”
Annie nodded sympathetically because she knew exactly how it felt to kill somebody. She’d learned how hard it was at the age of seventeen, and Grace was dealing with all of that now. But the experience had given Annie a resilience and a cold pragmatism that neither Roadrunner nor Harley seemed to possess, because they were just standing there dieseling in idle like two slack-jawed idiots.
She grabbed the flash drives and shoved them into Harley’s hands. “You upload John’s hard drive into the Beast—that’s your baby.”
The Beast was a linked processing cluster of computers that performed like a supercomputer, and among the many tasks it could handle was finding, sorting, comparing, and collating massive amounts of information. The only trouble was, it was occupied at the moment. “Annie, that thing is in the middle of rendering graphics for the American history thing right now, and it’s using just about all the computing power we have. We have to shut it down and back it up before we even start to enter new data and repurpose it to search.”
“Well,
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