Don Bruns - Stuff to spy for

“It’s a federal government project, right?” She took a sip of her coffee. Two creams and a packet of Splenda.

“It is.” James sounded cynical. He was wondering about his decision to include Em.

“Let’s back it up to that project, okay?”

I wasn’t on the same page. I must have looked like I didn’t understand.

“Tell me again about the government project.”

I figured if I was in charge of the security installation, I should be the one to tell her about the Department of Defense project. “Synco Systems is banking on a project for the Department of Defense. This system is supposed to protect the Department of Defense from any outside intrusion.”

“There was this big retail chain that had all their customers’ credit information on their computers.” James had jumped in, leaning over the table. “Two guys in an old Pontiac used a laptop in one of this company’s parking lots, and they stole all this personal information. All from a wireless laptop. It’s crazy. The FBI got lucky and found them before they could sell the information.”

“So this system is supposed to stop that from happening?”

I chimed in. “It is.”

“Guaranteed to stop anyone from stealing information from the Department of Defense.”

“That’s the general idea, Em.” I’d gone over it twice now.

“That’s where it starts, guys. If Ralph Walters was killed, it goes back to this project.”

“You think?” James looked puzzled.

“If you’re being followed, it goes back to this project. The GPS unit on your truck? Same thing. The disappearance of Tony Quatman, his secretary, and her husband? Department of Defense project.”

“You know this?” James appeared to be amazed.

She tilted her head and stared at him. “Of course not. What do you think I am, a psychic?”

“But you just said-”

“Problem solving one-o-one, James. When faced with a problem, you have to go back and start at a certain point. As far back as you can go. In this case, that starts when Skip sold the job. The reason for the sale? A contract with the Department of Defense. So we’ll start there.”

“You sound so confident.”

“I have no clue. But you two-you don’t even have a starting point. Now I’ve given it to you.”

“So your theory could be all wrong.”

“Could be.”

The gray Honda drove slowly past the restaurant. It took me by surprise, but I could swear that the driver slowed down, and even though I couldn’t see him, or her, it appeared they were checking out the parking lot. Probably looking for our truck or my car. It was time to check for another GPS unit. This spy versus spy thing was getting old.

“James-” I motioned to the window and he looked.

“I checked the truck before we left Synco, amigo. No GPS.”

“So what are you going to do about the card and Carol Conroy?” Em went right back to the problem at hand.

“If I give it to her, she’ll know I’m a phony. She’ll be totally aware that Sarah is not dating me. And, she’ll have evidence that her husband is having an affair.”

“That’s what she’s paying you for, Skip.” Now she sounded like a mother.

“Yeah, but when I give it to her I’ve effectively lost that part of the job. She may fire me from the security job for leading her on, and she may cancel the contract we’ve got with Synco Systems.”

Across the table, James looked glum. I wasn’t feeling so good about it myself. We needed the job.

“I lose the bonus from Sarah, my commission on the sale, the bonus from Carol Conroy, and I’ll probably be fired from my job. Other than that-”

“So don’t give it to her.” Em sipped at her sweet, creamy beverage. “That’s the answer, right?”

“Like you said, I’m being paid to-”

“You’re being paid to listen and report. Smart move, Skip. Tell her about the conversation on the phone. The one about codes, about Ralph Walters and Tony Quatman. Give her a written report. If you have to, transcribe the conversation. Tell her that you can’t release the recording due to technical reasons. The machine had a short in it and you can’t get it to play back again. But you have the basic information.”

I was formally put in my place. I couldn’t believe my girlfriend had figured it out over coffee.

“You know President Richard Nixon used to tape conversations in the Oval Office at the White House. And when he was called on by Congress to produce the tape of a conversation he had that was somewhat incriminating, they found that seventeen crucial minutes had accidentally been erased. We read about it in history class. Remember? But I’m sure you guys already figured that out. You’ve got a way to get rid of the phone call from Sarah. It’s the only solution, right?”

“Yeah.” James nodded his head up and down, up and down, up and down. There was such a thing as overdoing it.

“Sure. We just wanted to know what you thought.”

“Same thing you guys thought.” Em sipped her coffee and stared out the window. “Find a way to spoon-feed her everything else, but don’t play the Sarah card. Not yet at least.”

“Sure.” It all sounded so easy.

“There’s that gray Honda again.” Sarah pointed out the window as an Accord slowly cruised by.

“Are you sure it’s the same one?”

“The license plate matches, and the dent in the passenger’s door appears to be identical. I’d guess it’s the same car.

James had been the one who wanted her opinion. It could have been the best idea he’d ever had. Em had already identified the problem, identified the starting point, solved the immediate problem, and recognized the enemy. Was it any wonder I loved this girl?

She went home in the BMW, and James and I drove home in the truck. There was no GPS under the truck. I slid under and checked the undercarriage myself. James was strangely silent as he drove, and I kept thinking about Em’s insight.

We’d driven for about five minutes, the brakes grinding and the engine sounding rough when he said, “I’d thought of that, you know. Just tell Carol Conroy what she needs to know. Nothing more. It was pretty much where I was going with it.”

“Yeah. I’d thought of it too. But it’s always nice to hear someone confirm your thoughts, right?”

“My thoughts exactly, compadre. Just because we’ve got a high-tech surveillance system in place, doesn’t mean we have to share everything with her. We can control what she knows.”

“True.” But then I was taking Carol Conroy’s money under false pretenses. And it was a lot of money. But if I leveled with her, then I’d probably lose the entire gig. And was it legal to bug Sandy Conroy’s office in the first place? I wanted to go somewhere and just scream for about five minutes.

When we walked in the door, James pointed at the computer. “Turn it on, amigo. We need to see how the day ended.”

I hit the power key, awakening the computer from hibernation mode, and the warm glow on the screen showed me the password box. James and I used Beercity on our ancient PC. The company code on the laptop was Password. It was my boss Michael’s brilliant idea. I always figured that Beercity was a lot harder to crack than Password, but Michael was the boss. I punched in Password, and in a moment the screen glowed.

Conroy pulled the door open and Sarah walked in. She stood still for a moment and he stalked back to his desk, sitting down and staring at her. Slowly she walked to the sole chair in front of his massive wooden desk. She sat down, pulling her dress down to her knees.

“What?”

“You scare me.”

“Sandy, I scare you?”

“You start with your insecurities, your ‘do you love me, I love you’ little whines, then it moves on to demands. ‘When is this going to be over? When are you leaving her?’ I can’t have this, Sarah. It’s got to stop.”