T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

Jackson halted Wynn’s progress toward the chamber entrance. “Stay right where you are, please. I’ve got words for you as well.” He turned back to Kay. “You folks were very eloquent about this cause of yours.”

“Mr. Chairman-”

“Wait, now. It’s my hand on the gavel, and I’ve got something to say. We’ve made a good-faith effort to help you out here. But this particular provision doesn’t stand a chance.”

“With respect, I disagree.”

“Do you have the vaguest idea what kind of stink bomb you’ve let loose? How could you possibly expect me to support your position on this bill?” He swept his arm about, connecting with all the unseen foes. “The banks have all the clout in the world. We’ve got their lobbyists swarming around this place like a battalion of Gucci cockroaches.”

“You don’t need to support us, Mr. Chairman,” Kay replied quietly. “Just don’t get in our way.”

“You’re not hearing me, Senator. This issue is dead. I want you to help me bury it as quietly as we possibly can.”

Kay’s voice held desperate appeal. “The international banking business needs to be placed under tighter regulatory control. But the nature of the modern-day beast has changed. Finance has gone global. So the only way to control it is to do likewise. What better way than to tie it to debt relief, give these extremely poor nations a helping hand?”

“Spare me, okay? We’re all done here.”

“I’m not withdrawing the amendment, Jackson.”

“Then we’re burying you along with the proposal. I am siding with the opposition and readying an emergency spending measure to counteract the loss of the appropriations, at least temporarily.”

“I think you’re making a terrible mistake.”

“That’s your reaction?” He punched the sides of his hips instead of somebody else. “What happened to your political sense, Kay? I thought I could rely on you to see the light while you still could.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Chairman,” she replied stiffly, turning for the door. “I have a committee to chair.”

Jackson Taylor waited for her to vanish through the door before turning his ire on Wynn. “Who’s behind this madness of yours?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

“You’ve succeeded in raising the hackles of some of our biggest supporters. You might be green when it comes to politics, but a guy with your experience ought to know you don’t hang your top clients out to dry.” He closed the distance between them, moving in near enough for Wynn to see the tiny flecks in his eyes, bloodstains from previous wars. “It’s payback time for all the misery you put me and my company through. If I could, I’d sell tickets to the spectacle of watching you crash and burn.”

Tuesday

Orlando was experiencing a foretaste of summer, a wet and sticky misery that sent the last snowbirds drilling their Buicks through the soggy air hanging over I-95. Rain was predicted for that afternoon, but Jackie knew the heat would not truly abate until the hurricanes of September. She was in for five months of growing certainty that Alaska might actually be a decent place to live.

Jackie worked at her dinette table wearing cutoffs and a tank top. Tension radiated off her in waves as strong as the heat. Her laptop was logged onto the Trastevere site, but so far her twice-hourly messages to the Boatman had elicited no response. The white screen was a major fear factor. She had no idea how to access Hayek’s computers or run the code. She hated the fact that she had become so dependent upon a ghost, a guy she had seen only once, and who up to now had given her nothing but more mysteries and riddles. But there was no one else. What was she supposed to do, take this to her Washington pals, say she wanted to break into a hedge fund’s mainframe with a stolen access code?

Jackie looked down at the book in her lap. She had been stuck on the same page for almost an hour. She was no closer to discovering why she had felt so drawn to the old textbooks. Three days of searching had done nothing but pluck away the scabs, leaving her dripping from the blood of old memories. To make matters worse, aftershocks from Eric’s midnight appearance transformed every outside noise into an attack by goblins and fiends.

She slammed the book shut, reared back, and flung it crashing into the side wall. She leaped to her feet, kicked at the scattered books, and stomped across the room. Slamming open her screen door, she raised her fists to the dismal sky. “We’re on the same team, right? How about a little help here?”

She lowered her fists as the back door to the big house creaked open. Millicent Kirby crabbed out, blinking in the light as if it were the first day she’d seen in months. Jackie sighed and made her way down the steps, calling ahead, “It’s all right. I wasn’t talking to anybody. I’m just having a tough morning.”

The old lady waited until Jackie was standing by the rotting back stairs to ask, “Are the bad men coming back?”

Jackie did not have the strength to lie. “Maybe.” She felt her insides clutch up tight with the fear of being asked to leave.

Millicent Kirby just plucked at the mole on her neck and stared at the heat-drenched day. “It’s hard to be alone in the dark, isn’t it.”

When thunder rumbled across the afternoon sky, Jackie reemerged to commune with the storm. She leaned against the stair railing and flapped the sweaty T-shirt against her belly. She promised herself a good hard run once the lightning had passed and the rain settled down to a cooling drone.

Then she spotted the figure scampering down her drive. He ran like a skinny hamster, searching out the walls to a cage from which he had already escaped. Twice he paused to sniff the air, or so it seemed from where she stood. Jackie squinted as lightning blasted close enough for the sound to come with the flash, a great crackling boom that sent her tumbling down the stairs.

The young man cowered midway between the back of the main house and the garage, as though trapped in amber and not heavy raindrops. Jackie saw no danger to his expression or the way he huddled under his jacket. He shouted at her, “Are you permanently deranged?”

Recognition of the voice with its slight accent flashed in time to the thunderbolt. And the storm became more appropriate still. “Boatman?”

“I’ve tried your phones for hours . Your landline was constantly busy and your cellphone is disconnected.” His red-rimmed eyes were as devoid of color as the sky, his gaunt features held a waxy cast. “Tell me that wasn’t intentional.”

It was her own turn for rage. “Where have you been ?”

“Busy. And believe me, you don’t want to know more than that.” He flinched, taking the rain as he would blows from above. “I hope your computer is functioning. I was forced to depart in a hurry. The only thing I carried with me was my phone. Which has proved to be of no benefit whatsoever.”

“It’s working.”

“Excellent.” He scampered forward. “Is there someplace safe where we can get to work?”

“I’m not sure. About the safety part, I mean.”

Tuesday

Jackie stood by the doorway, scarcely able to take in the fact that he was here and real and even named. “Let me get this straight. You were a hacker before you became one of Hayek’s computer nerds?”

Colin Ready’s hands flew through the process of establishing internet pathways on Jackie’s laptop. “Corporations like to pretend they’re totally secure. Bankers are the worst of the lot. They want the world to think they’re absolutely invincible, never taking a wrong step. Well, we’re the gremlins who pass on a much-needed dose of electronic truth. In a fair world, we’d be getting paid for doing mankind a service. But whoever said this world was fair?”