Takamura pulled the keyboard closer to him on his lap. He aimed the pointer with his head.
"Access," he ordered. The program he had written appeared. "Oh, yeah," Takamura whispered to himself. His fingers typed as he moved the pointer with his head to the appropriate places.
He paused as he thought he heard something. He waited, fingers poised for several seconds. But there was no repeat of whatever it was, if it had been anything. He continued working.
When done, he ran the altered program. The green bar was steady as it worked. This one was finished much more quickly than the first time, given that the numbers involved were much fewer. After a minute there were several names listed.
"Jesus," Takamura whispered. He picked up his phone and dialed the number from a card in his pocket.
"Dublowski." The voice on the other sounded wide awake, even though it was early in the morning.
"Sergeant Major, this is Specialist Takamura. Major Thorpe told me to call you if anything came up."
"Well?" Dublowski demanded.
"I've got something here. Something we didn't think of."
"What is it?"
"I'll bring it to you in the morning. Where should I meet you?"
"Main gate to the Ranch. You know where the Ranch is, right?"
"Yes, sergeant major."
"See you there at oh-eight-thirty."
The phone went dead. Takamura felt the blood rushing in his temples. "Download screen," he ordered, saving this data on the disk alongside what he had downloaded earlier.
He looked at the screen. "Enlarge," he ordered. The data doubled in size. He sat back in his chair and stared at it, thinking hard.
"Now, laddie, don't you think we know what you're doing?"
Takamura jumped, dumping his keyboard to the floor as he spun about. A man was silhouetted against the door of the trailer, but all Takamura's eyes could focus on was the glint of light from the large-screen TV reflected on the barrel of the gun in the man's hand.
"What do you want?" Takamura stammered.
"I find it interesting," the man said, his Irish accent almost musical. "Most people ask who I am before they ask what I want. But you're the straight-to-business type. That's good."
The man stepped forward. He was tall, about six feet, and slender. His face was covered with a large black beard that had streaks of gray in it. He wore small rimless glasses that were tinted a red color. Takamura couldn't see his eyes through the lenses. What he could see was that the barrel of the gun was locked on to him without the slightest tremor.
The man moved to a point where he could see the screen. "Ah, laddie, you turn over enough rocks sooner or later, you find a snake. Not a very healthful pursuit."
"Who the hell are you?
"Ah, too late," the man said. "I didn't answer your first question; what makes you think I'll answer the second?"
Takamura turned toward the big-screen TV. "Lights," he said.
"What was that?"
"Off."
The trailer went dark. Takamura dove to his left as the room was briefly lit by the muzzle flash of the Irishman's gun. There was no sound of the gun going off, only the metallic noise of the slide going back as a new bullet was loaded.
Takamura hit the small button on his central processing unit by instinct and the disk popped out. Takamura slid it into his pocket, then scrambled across the floor, putting the couch between him and the other man. Another strobe of light and a bullet punched through the couch, just inches behind Takamura. He could hear the sound of the bullet going through the cloth.
Takamura's fingers ripped aside a rug and grasped the handle for the bottom storm exit to the trailer. He pulled up the hatch and slid underneath as a third burst of light indicated another bullet being fired.
"Laddie, don't make it hard!"
The voice was muffled as Takamura scrambled through the mud underneath the trailer. He pushed aside the wood lattice and rolled free, pulling the keys out of his pocket as he did so. He jumped into his car and slid the keys in the ignition.
The sound of the engine starting brought the Irishman out the door of the trailer, gun firing. A round shattered the windshield, showering Takamura with safety glass. He ducked down and floored the gas pedal. The BMW's wheels spun in the dirt, then caught. He turned the wheel hard right and the car spun around the small parking area.
Takamura peeked over the edge of the dashboard and steered down the drive. Another bullet smashed the rear window. As he got closer to the paved road, Takamura eased himself up higher in the seat. He glanced in the rearview mirror, but there was nothing to be seen.
With one hand on the wheel, he used the other to flip open the screen on the laptop and turn it on. The small screen lit the inside of the car as it booted up. Takamura pulled the disk out of his pocket and slid it in the slot on the side while still maintaining control with the other hand.
Takamura looked over his shoulder, half expecting to see lights from a trailing vehicle, but there was only the blackness of a deserted North Carolina road in the middle of the night. He eased up slightly on the accelerator so he could concentrate on what he was doing.
He leaned over and pulled his cell phone out of the glove compartment. He punched in the number for his office's fax/data line. As the phone rang, he plugged a cord from the cell phone to the laptop.
He looked once more in the rearview mirror. Darkness. "Goddamn, I got away," Takamura whispered to himself. Then he repeated it, screaming the curse at the top of his lungs in exhilaration.
There was the hiss in the cell phone as he was connected with the office computer. Takamura was reaching for the enter key on the laptop when the car was slammed forward, his head snapping back against the headrest. He grabbed the steering wheel with both hands as he fought for control of the car. His right tires dropped as the car went onto the narrow shoulder. Straining hard, Takamura managed to get back on the road.
He looked in the rearview mirror. There was a darker shadow behind him, another car, with its lights off. It raced up and slammed into his rear bumper again. Takamura was prepared this time and managed to stay on the road.
The car came racing up alongside. Takamura risked a glance. A man was driving, but there was something wrong with his outline. That was all Takamura managed to register as the other car slammed into his left side panel. Takamura shot his right hand out and hit the enter key as the BMW went off the road, flying across a ditch and stopping abruptly as it slammed into a hundred-year-old oak tree.
Takamura, unbuckled, went through the already shattered windshield, breaking both legs in the process as they were snapped against the top of the dashboard. His head hit the tree above the crumpled hood of the car, his neck snapping, killing him instantly.
On the road, the other car, a red Mustang, came to a halt. The Irishman stepped out. His upper face was covered with the bulk of a set of night-vision goggles. He carefully climbed down, across the drainage ditch, then up to the wreckage of the BMW. He noted Takamura's smashed body lying on the hood, the cant of the neck leaving no doubt as to his condition.
The Irishman looked in the open window. Through the greenish image the goggles gave him, he saw the glow of the laptop screen, still functioning, as a bright light. He reached in and pulled the laptop out from under the dash. Battered but functional. He pushed the small button on the side, ejecting the disk and pocketing it. He turned and headed back to his car, his voice softly humming an Irish ditty.
Chapter Fifteen
"Major Thorpe, Major Rotzinger." Master Sergeant King made the introductions in German.
Thorpe took the other's man hand, feeling the rough skin and the strong grip. Rotzinger was short, under five-six, but built like a tank, with immensely broad shoulders and a barrel chest. The German nodded his head at Thorpe, but didn't say anything as they sat down.