“So what makes you think that the symbols could somehow be worth a fortune?”
“I overheard a conversation he had with a stranger a few years ago. The man said that he could handle the transaction, which could be worth an astronomical amount. Those were his exact words. Dad refused. He said that some things shouldn’t be bought or sold, regardless of the potential pay-off.”
What Regan was telling me seemed to jibe with what I knew about Malloy. “Did you ever see the boxes before? Did he have them at the house where you grew up?”
“He had them for a long time. Unfortunately, he only showed me how to open one of them. And it’s not the one I have.”
Regan reached down, then set the box she’d brought on the table. It looked very much like mine, except that it had a design on it. I got the box out of my backpack and set it beside the other one. Regan looked it over carefully.
“This isn’t the one I know how to open, either.”
We sat in silence, staring at the boxes for some time. Question after question went through my mind. Two Pandora’s boxes. What was inside them? What contents would be important enough to die for?”
Regan’s voice broke into my reverie. “So what do we do now?”
I thought it over for a bit. “Well, I suppose we need to figure out how to open these.”
“What if we can’t?”
“I guess we should put them someplace safe and figure out where the other ones went. Do you have any idea who else he would have sent a box to?”
Regan was quiet for a few moments, then shook her head. “No.”
“We need leads. I want you to see what you can take up. Even if you don’t like it, I think you should talk to Emily and see if she could help. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take these boxes and see if I can get inside them.”
From the look on her face, Regan didn’t seem really comfortable with the idea, but I wasn’t giving her any options — were going to play it my way. I put both boxes into my backpack.
After they were securely stowed away, I leaned toward the beautiful woman and took her hand. “You’re going to have to trust me, Regan. Help me find the other boxes. We’ll get everything together, then decide what to do. OK?”
She was vulnerable, and clearly hated it. After pulling away and collecting her things, she looked down at me. “I guess I have no choice, do I?”
She started to walk off, then stopped and turned back. “Don’t run out on me, Tex. I’ve already lost my father.”
I looked up at her deep, clear eyes. “I won’t.”
Chapter Seventeen
I had other things I wanted to discuss with Regan, but I’d grilled her enough for a day with such bad news in it. I sat in the lounge for awhile longer, examining the boxes. What had Fitzpatrick called then? Chinese puzzle boxes? Whatever they were, they had me baffled. Maybe Fitzpatrick could figure them out. My instincts had already decided to trust the old man. Letting him hold on to both boxes were safer than carrying them around, and if he could unlock them, it would be an added bonus. In the meantime, I’d be free to track down the other boxes.
I flew back to Fitzpatrick’s hotel. He confirmed that the boxes did indeed appear to be the ones Malloy had owned in Peking. I left him hunched over one of them, examining it closely.
Sitting in the driver’s seat of my speeder, I considered my next step. The two boxes were as safe as they could be for the time being. Regan would, I hoped, go out and find a lead for me after she licked her wounds for a while. Chelsee was on the back-burner. The deadline Jackson Cross had given me had come and gone, but I was still among the living. I supposed that was a good sign. Maybe I should contact Mac Malden and see if he could give me any estimates on my current life expectancy.
Then there was the matter of getting past the encryption on Malloy’s desk and reading whatever information was there. Unfortunately I had no idea what the password was. The only real lead I had was the e-mail address that have fallen out of the paperback. I racked my brain, trying to think of where I could get on to the I-Net. No one I knew subscribed. Hold on a second. Malloy had a computer at the warehouse. People don’t typically carry e-mail addresses without having internet access. Maybe Malloy had been hooked up where he was working.
I flew over the waterfront area and landed for the second time at 54 Front Street. The outside of the warehouse looked no different. I was willing to bet the inside had changed significantly. The first two doors I checked were locked, but the side door was slightly ajar. I didn’t like the look of it. Glancing around, I couldn’t see any vehicles parked anywhere close. I stepped inside.
There hadn’t seemed to be so many steps when I’d sprinted down them last night. By the time I reached the third floor, I was panting. Here and there, I saw chips in the concrete walls where my pursuers bullets had struck. Was I dragging myself straight into a date with an armour-piercing slug? With some effort, I resisted the urge to turn back and continued on to the sixth floor.
The door into Malloy’s former work area was closed. I paused, my ear to the door. There was no sound coming from within. I turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly.
The room was spotless. I’d expected to see a Pollock-esque display of blood and brains. Instead I saw a perfectly tidy, unused office space. Temporarily stunned, I walked around the area, trying to picture what had changed. The desk Malloy had been working on was still there, but a quick search showed that it had been cleaned out. The file cabinet must have been there before, but it, too, was empty. There was nothing to find. Not a scrap of paper, not a single rubber band or paperclip. And no indication that a man had been gunned down in this very room less than twenty-four hours ago. Whoever the hit men were, they were good.
Malloy’s computer was in a corner, on the floor. I picked it up and set it on the desk. It didn’t take long to get everything attached and ready. As I expected, the active data storage clip had been removed by whoever had cleaned out the place. All I could hope for was that Malloy had stored his modem access commands in ROM. If he had, I could log on even without a data storage clip.
He had. Within seconds, I was ready to surf. With the familiar whining and screeching noises, I was welcomed into the world of virtual communication. I pulled out the There are Messages from Outer Space paperback, removed the bookmark, and typed in the e-mail address. After a short wait, the message to send screen popped up. I typed in We need to meet and clicked send. Several minutes went by with no reply. I dug for my smokes.
The cigarette was smoked almost all the way down when I heard a beep. I clicked Open and read the message displayed. Is this Malloy?
The senders ID was listed as Anonymous. I typed another message. Malloy is dead.
I sent the message and waited for a minute. Another beep. Who are you?
A friend. I was the last one to see him alive.
A longer interval passed. Whoever was on the other end was probably debating how to deal with me. Beep. How much do you know about Malloy?
Mr Anonymous was testing me. He died with a secret. I tried to find out what it was and keep it away from the bad guys. Can you help me?
I was coming on pretty strong, but I didn’t have time to pussyfoot around. This guy was either going to help me or he wasn’t. His message came back. Do you know about the box?
He was interested. Luckily, I had a trump card. I have two boxes.
It took only fifteen seconds to get a response. 413 Vina del Mar. There are ears everywhere.
The sloppily painted sign at 413 Vina del Mar identified the place as the Cosmic Connection. The tiny store front was wedged between a fruit stand and a sex shop in a run-down business section just off the Wharf. The display window was filled with charms, amulets, UFO books, and astrology charts. It didn’t look promising.