Desh smiled weakly. Given that he was sleep deprived, unshaven, uncombed, and had spent part of the night inside the trunk of a car, he didn’t doubt it. “Thanks. I feel like hell too.”
“What happened to you? And what are you doing here now?” Griffin scratched his head. “For that matter, if she was after you, why knock me out?”
“I’d love to answer all of your questions, Matt, but I really can’t.” He held out his hands helplessly.
“Look, David, this secrecy crap has to go. My apartment was broken into and I was knocked out. I’m up to my ass in this. I need to know what’s going on.”
Desh sighed. “You make a good point,” he said. “Maybe at some point I’ll tell you everything, but not right now. There’s too much going on and I don’t know who to trust. It’s better for both of us if you don’t know any more than you do already.”
“Then find yourself another hacker,” snapped Griffin.
“I don’t blame you for being angry,” said Desh sympathetically. “A known psychopath and murderer has attacked you, and you want to know what you’ve gotten yourself into. But I’m asking you to trust me. Eventually, I’ll tell you everything.” He paused. “And I’ll throw in a fifty percent bonus as hazard pay for what you’ve already gone through.”
“You can’t spend money when you’re dead,” noted Griffin, unimpressed.
“I’ll see to your safety,” Desh assured him. “This was a one time thing. It won’t happen again.”
Griffin eyed him skeptically but finally nodded. “Okay—for now at least,” he added cautiously.
“Good. Now that that’s settled,” said Desh, changing the subject rapidly so Griffin wouldn’t have time to reconsider, “I want you to find everything there is to know about Kira Miller. If it’s accessible by computer, I want it. School records, guidance counselor notes, scholarly articles, books she buys online—hell for that matter anything she buys online, from perfume to paperclips. I told you about the two teachers from Middlebrook, her high school alma matter. One was murdered and the other went missing about sixteen years or so ago. Find anything you can about this. Newspaper articles, police reports; everything. I want to build as complete a profile of her as is humanly possible.”
Griffin studied him carefully. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “As long as we’re still trying to find a mass murderer, I’m willing to take some personal risk. But this had better not veer off into questionable territory,” he warned. He pointed to the plaque on his desk. “Remember, I use my skills for good only.”
“And that’s what I like about you, Matt,” said Desh smoothly. He sighed. “While you’re working on this assignment, do you mind if I crash on your couch? I’m exhausted. The prospect of driving home right now without any sleep is looking pretty bleak.”
“Mi sofa es su sofa,” responded Griffin, his amiable self once again.
“Thanks,” said Desh gratefully. He laid down on the couch and closed his eyes.
Desh re-opened his eyes with a start to find the massive figure of Matt Griffin standing over him, shaking him roughly with an anxious but irate expression. Desh glanced at his watch. He had been sleeping for almost two hours! Incredible. He had closed his eyes just an instant before. He was still tired, but this period of concentrated sleep would be enough to allow him to operate at a high level for the rest of the day, if necessary.
“What?” mumbled Desh worriedly as the rage on Griffin’s face began to register.
Griffin thrust a scrap of paper in front of his eyes. ARE WE BEING BUGGED?
“No,” said Desh aloud, shaking his head “We were, but I cleared them. Why? What’s going on?”
Griffin handed him a piece of paper. “You got an e-mail from Kira Miller,” he snapped.
Desh bolted upright, now fully awake.
“Read it and tell me what the hell is going on!” barked Griffin angrily.
Desh’s heart pounded furiously as he turned to the message.
From: xc86vzi
To: Matt Griffin
Re: Urgent! For David Desh
Matt Griffin:
David probably removed any bugs from your apartment, but remain silent about this message and assume you’re being bugged until he indicates otherwise. Please give this message to David immediately.
David Desh:
I bugged the sweatpants I provided to you as a precautionary measure. Once again, I’m sorry about the invasion of privacy. I modified the bug to make it undetectable by your equipment (Impossible—I know). I just finished listening to the record of your conversations with Connelly and Smith that were forwarded to my computer.
Desh stifled a curse and clenched his teeth in fury. She was always one step ahead of him! She had correctly named the two people he had spoken with during the night, which meant she wasn’t bluffing. He was being outsmarted at every turn. He retrieved the sweatpants he had worn the night before, opened the door, and threw them as far down the hallway as he could manage. Griffin watched him angrily, not saying a word.
Desh was furious with himself, but forced his focus back to the e-mail message, knowing that self-recrimination would have to wait. He continued reading:
We need to finish our discussion. I have precious little time now to provide details (I was planning to last night) but a batch of the gellcaps I told you about were stolen years ago. There is another enhanced human at large (or “golden goose” to use Smith’s terminology). He is the one who is ruthless and has powerful people in his pocket, not me. He is also the one behind the effort to find me. It is critical that he be stopped.
Smith is lying to you: the rival who stole my treatment is behind the Ebola plot, not me.
I know you don’t trust me, but trust this: Jim Connelly won’t live out the day if you don’t act. You need to warn him and then bring him fully up to speed. You called him and raised his suspicions and he’s in a powerful position to pry and make life uncomfortable for the true psychopaths here. Like you, he is a man who can’t be bought, so they will kill him to prevent him from learning the truth. Don’t trust me, but please err on the side of caution. Stakes this high bring out the aberrant personality types we spoke of like moths to a flame.
They will kill you as soon as they come to believe you won’t lead them to me. They will clean up behind you as well, which means killing Matt Griffin the first chance they get.
Good luck
Kira Miller
Desh looked up from the message in alarm and immediately was met by Griffin’s icy stare. “Can you tell me what the hell I’ve gotten myself into!” he demanded. “Ebola plot! What the hell does that mean? She says some group out there plans to kill you and me both. You said I’d be safe. It sure doesn’t sound that way!” he spat.
“Okay, Matt, no more secrets,” said Desh, his voice calm. “You’re far more involved than I ever expected you to be, and for that I am truly sorry. You deserve the truth. But I need to think through the implications of this e-mail first. How securely was it sent? Could it have been intercepted?”
“No way. She’s as good as it gets and my computer is a fortress.”
Desh nodded, not surprised. As usual, she was careful and smart. But was the message simply another of her manipulations? Desh was getting awfully tired of being a pawn in a game for which he didn’t know either the rules or the players.