“I don’t know. Gone. An hour ago.”
“We’ll come back to that. Right now I need the key or whatever device Stark put the stolen information onto.”
“How did you find me?” asked Tank.
“Newfangled invention called LoJack. Just about every car over twenty grand has been carrying one for the past ten years.”
“I haven’t been in the market lately.”
Keefe shut and locked the door, then knelt to pat down Tank, removing his wallet and dropping all his credit cards on the floor. Finding nothing, he stood and walked the perimeter of the cabin. He stopped at the kitchen table, where he read the article. “Nice work,” he said. “Joe Grant would have had a field day with this. He’d finally have gotten the promotion to D.C. he wanted. Then again, maybe not. He was too good at his job to be put behind a desk.” Keefe studied the tablet on which Tank had backed up all of Stark’s files. “And here you are, way out here without an Internet connection.”
“Not even dial-up,” said Tank.
Keefe picked up the glass of tequila and drank half of it down. “A little early, but then again, I don’t usually shoot anyone before noon.” Then he was kneeling in front of Tank again. “So are you going to cooperate or not?”
Tank closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the floor. “Not.”
Keefe put the gun to Tank’s left knee and fired. “IRA used to do that. They call it kneecapping someone. Hurts, doesn’t it?”
Tank couldn’t speak. He knew only agony.
Keefe finished the tequila and put the glass in the sink. “You know,” he said, “it doesn’t really matter whether I get the key or not. It only matters that no one else finds it. But if I do leave without it, everyone upstairs is going to think Mary Grant has it. We don’t know where she is at the moment, but I don’t imagine she can stay hidden for long. So if you don’t have the information Stark stole, we’ll have no choice but to assume she does.”
Tank began to cry. It wasn’t the pain so much as the disappointment-the despair of it all.
“In the typewriter,” he said. “The key is in the typewriter.”
Keefe retrieved the key to the LaFerrari. “Clever bastard,” he said as he popped the flash drive. “Just so you know, we’re going to kill Mary and her daughters anyway. Mr. Mason doesn’t like loose ends. Neither does Ian Prince.”
“Don’t you dare!”
Keefe stood over Tank and pointed the gun at his head. “And how do you propose to stop us?”
92
The elevator was hot and crowded. Jessie stood with her face pressed against the door, hemmed in on all sides. She was aware of Rudeboy somewhere behind her, but there were too many people to speak to him here. The elevator stopped repeatedly, disgorging passengers. The last two left at the twenty-first floor. The doors closed and she had her wish. She was alone with Rudeboy.
“Um…,” she began, facing him, smiling. “Good game.”
Rudeboy kept his head lowered, saying nothing.
“I was on the Ninjaneers. We needed better defense.”
Still no response.
Jess turned back toward the front, every atom of her wanting to shrivel up and die.
The elevator continued to the penthouses. The door opened and Rudeboy brushed past her. Jess followed. “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second. I don’t know how you manage to do attack, research, and defense all at once. That’s awesome.”
Jessie cringed. She sounded like a total fangirl.
“I actually came to play against you,” she went on blindly, hurrying to keep up. “I thought if I won, you might talk to me. You see, I have this problem. It’s about a hack. I can’t figure it out on my own. Even my TA couldn’t make sense of it. Whoever did it is, like, super-smart. In fact, I don’t know who else to ask.”
They’d come to the end of the hall.
The presidential suite.
Jessie stood back as Rudeboy slid his card key through the lock and opened the door. She caught a glimpse of marble and lots of plants and an aquarium that looked like Sea World. Rudeboy walked inside, leaving the door open. Jessie poked her head into the suite, not daring to enter. “Please,” she said, begging but not begging. “It’s about my family. My dad, really. I need your help.”
Rudeboy turned around. For the first time she got a clear look at his face. Dark, deep-set eyes; a small twitchy mouth, the lips sickeningly red, inflamed.
“Come in,” he said. “Shut the door.”
Jessie stepped inside and closed the door. The aquarium formed a wall between the entry and a living area that looked as large as her home on Pickfair Drive. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view over the Las Vegas strip and beyond.
“So you want to talk to Rudeboy?” he said.
Jessie nodded. Weird question. Obviously.
“He’s in there.” Rudeboy, or the person she’d thought was Rudeboy, pointed to a doorway.
“But aren’t you-”
The door opened. A man she’d seen a thousand times on television and on the Net walked toward her. “Hello, Jessie,” he said. “Brilliant play. You almost had me.”
“One letter,” said Jess.
“Sometimes that’s all it takes,” said Ian Prince.
“You’re Rudeboy?”
“Seven years running.”
“But you weren’t on the floor.”
“It’s difficult. Too much attention. My associate takes my place. He helps a bit, but I feed him the answers. You’re a gifted player, young lady. Maybe one day you’ll work for me.”
“That would be cool.”
“After all, we both live in Austin.”
Jessie was confused, off balance. It was too much to take in. Ian Prince was five feet away, talking to her. The hotel suite was insane, and there was a shark in the aquarium. “How did you know my name?”
“I know all about you. I know you love Led Zeppelin. Me, too. Favorite song?”
“ ‘Heartbreaker.’ ”
“Mine’s ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ ”
Weak answer, but Jessie wasn’t going to say anything.
Prince went on. “I know that you’re taking a summer school class at UT and that you have a younger sister named Grace. I also know that you both adore sloths.”
“Sorry, but you’re kind of creeping me out.”
“And I know that you recently lost your father. I’m sorry.”
Before Jessie could say anything, there was a sharp knock on the door. Ian Prince said, “Excuse me,” then walked to the entryway. “Come in,” he said, opening the door and throwing out a welcoming arm. “This is a surprise.”
Jessie’s mom entered the suite. Behind her was a slim, rough-looking man with a blond crew cut.
“Mom? What are you doing up here?”
Mary Grant didn’t answer. “Let her go,” she said to Ian Prince.
“So nice to finally meet you. I feel as though I know you already.”
Jessie looked back and forth between the two of them. “Mom, what is this? How do you know Ian Prince?”
“Your father did. Be quiet now, Jessie.”
Jessie backed up a step. She had no idea what was going on, only that she’d never seen her mother look so upset.
Ian Prince dropped his hand. “Close the door, Peter,” he said to the tough-looking blond guy. “Mary and I need to have a chat.”
93
“This doesn’t have to end badly. As long as I have what I need, I see no reason why we can’t go back to how things were.”