“Just fine,” she said, her brightly flashing eyes matching her dimpled smile. “They’re actually very cute little fellows.”
“Maybe to their mothers, or born-to-be biologist,” Bulatt replied with a grin as he brought his Blackberry up to his ear. “This is Ged,” he replied to the responding voice. “I’m looking at two SUV’s and a van.” He quickly read off the license plates, and then waited.
“Right now would be just fine,” he finally said, then disconnected the call, slipped the Blackberry back onto his belt and turned to Achara. “Are you ready to go to work?”
The Ashland Springs Hotel, Ashland, Oregon
Two hours later, Bulatt opened the door to the top-floor, two-room suite that Renwick had paid cash for; stepped inside with a hole-punched cardboard file box in his hand; turned on the light; looked around briefly; and then moved aside to make room for Achara and the two Reston boys.
“Oh, wow,” the two boys whispered wide-eyed when they saw the contents of the living room.
In addition to the stuffed couch and chairs that had been moved against the walls near the suite door, the room contained three cloth-covered round tables with pairs of chairs at each. The table furthest to the right held three large pizza boxes still nestled in warming pouch that was plugged into the nearby wall; six bottles of soda in an ice bucket; a plate holding a dozen chocolate chip cookies; and assorted plates and silverware. The table in the middle of the room, pushed up against the far wall, held a single laptop computer that was connected to a small color printer, and to a grey electronic box that, in turn, was connected to the wall by a thick white cable.
“There are more sodas in the fridge. The laptop, printer and firewall are mine, so your mother’s concerns are not an issue here,” Bulatt said as he closed the door, locked it, set the file box down, and then dragged the couch over so that it blocked the door. “There’s only one computer, so you guys will have to share.”
“Who’s the software registered to?” one of the twins asked.
“The hardware and software are registered to a covert business I set up in Redmond to work fresh water mussel cases,” Bulatt said. “According to your mother, the system’s connected up to the Ashland Fiber Network so that all routine tracking queries link back to Redmond. As long as you don’t use any of your personal passwords to access programs and data, everything you do should track back to my dummy corporation. I don’t understand how that happens, but I suppose you both do.”
“Oh sure,” the other boy who was eagerly pulling one of the pizza boxes out of the warmer said, “all you have to do is — ”
“Don’t tell me,” Bulatt said, holding up his left hand as he unsnapped his holstered pistol with his right and dropped it on the couch, “I’m not going to understand what you’re saying, and it would just make my head hurt if I tried.”
“Hey, is that a Sig-forty?” The boy paused in the middle of opening the first box.
“Yes.”
“It looks just like the one our dad carries. Can I see it?”
“No.”
“What if — ?”
“You touch the gun, I dislocate both of your thumbs,” Bulatt said matter-of-factly. “I’m sure your father would approve, and it would simplify the computer-sharing problem.”
“Oh,” the boy said, apparently intimidated by at least one of the threats as he turned his attentions back to the pizza box.
“Are you sure our mom knows about this?” the second boy — who had already set himself down in front of the computer and was eyeing the connections warily as the odor of hot pizza began to fill the room.
“She knows you’re going to be using my covert business laptop through this specific Internet connection to see what you can find out about Michael Hateley and his globe-hopping buddies, and I’m sure she’s got some clever way of monitoring what you do; but — ” Bulatt started to say.
“Did she actually turn on and operate your laptop?” the boy interrupted.
“Not as far as I know,” Bulatt said. “She just gave me the firewall box.”
The two boys looked at each other, smiled, and nodded. The boy at the computer quickly disconnected the firewall box at the wall and laptop, reconnected the computer directly to the wall, and then turned back to Bulatt. “Now she can’t monitor us.”
“At least not very easily,” the boy stacking slices of pizza onto a plate amended.
“Yeah, that’s true, she’s pretty sneaky,” the boy at computer agreed as he grabbed a slice of pizza from the plate his brother sat next to the laptop. “But, at least this way, it’s not really our fault if we go too far.”
“That’s precisely the idea,” Bulatt said.
The pizza boy started to sit down next to his brother, but then looked over at Bulatt. “Hey, you guys want some of this pizza?”
At that moment, the pungent aroma of Thai spices and garlic erupted into the room, easily competing with — and quickly overwhelming — the odors of baked cheese, crust, tomato paste and pepperoni.
“Eeew, what’s that?” the boys chimed in unison as they turned their attention to Achara, who had turned away from the computer discussion and was now busily opening up boxes labeled KAT WOK and filling plates.
“That,” Bulatt said with a satisfied sigh, “is what real food smells like.”
An hour later, Bulatt set his plate aside, leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch, and sighed contentedly, very much aware of the enticingly warm leg of Achara Kulawnit pressed tightly against his. “That was an excellent meal.”
Ten feet away, the twins continued to mutter, point at the laptop screen, and then quickly work the keyboard and mouse; just as they’d been doing for the last hour in between occasional bathroom, soda and cookie breaks.
“It was very nice,” Achara agreed with a yawn as she contemplated the last Szechwan green bean that she held casually at the end of her chopsticks, “but I can do better.”
“Really?” Bulatt’s right eyebrow rose skeptically.
“Absolutely.” Achara extended the green bean in front of Bulatt who groaned, leaned forward, bit off half, and then sank back into the cushions with another contented sigh as Achara popped the remaining bean half into her mouth. “It’s just a matter of carefully controlling the heat.”
“And you know how to do that.”
“Absolutely.”
Achara glanced over at the twins, eyeing them with an expression on her face that Bulatt couldn’t quite interpret, shook her head, and then turned to Bulatt.
“Speaking of which, I assume you do realize that we could have had a much more intimate dinner if you hadn’t brought along the chaperones,” she added in a quiet voice, her facial features shifting to an expression that was much easier to read. “Tell me you did that because you want very badly to find the men who killed my brother and shot my father.”
“Definitely because of your father,” Bulatt said, meeting her gaze. “I promised him I would find and deal with the men who killed your brother and his Rangers.”
“My brother is at peace with my mother, my father is a very understanding man, and that was an evasive answer,” she said softly.
“Yes, it was,” Bulatt agreed.
“But you still plan on sleeping out here on the couch, guarding the door all night; just in case this John Smith character figures out where we are, and tries to interfere with our investigation again?”
Bulatt glanced down at his wristwatch. “Smith isn’t going to find us, even if he’s awake and looking, which I seriously doubt; and, in about three more hours, he’s going to be much too busy to care about us at all. So, to answer your question: yes, I am going to stay here on this couch and keep an eye on those two, because they’re my biggest concern at the moment,” Bulatt said, nodding his head in the direction of the twins.
“Why, because you’re concerned they might go too far?”
“No, actually, I’m concerned they might be too afraid of their mother to go far enough.”
“Ah.” Achara considered the implications for a few seconds. “And while all of this illicit probing and data mining is going on, you really think the little ones are going to be sufficiently… distracting?”