Cliff Ryder - The Finish Line

A couple of blocks away, on the main thoroughfare of Euston Road, she spotted a small cafe with the wireless symbol she was looking for. Slipping inside, she ordered a large black coffee and a sweet roll that she choked down, hardly tasting it but knowing she should eat. Sitting in a back corner, she unzipped her laptop case and got out her mobile home, office and just about everything in between, a customized laptop that could run rings around anything off the shelf, and even give some other hackers' platforms a run for their money.

Between gulps of steaming, weak coffee, she logged on and navigated to a very secure, very private chat room for folks who dabbled in her kind of work, some still for kicks, some for very serious five-and six-figure business. She pulled down a guest avatar, a plain-John-looking man to hide behind, and strolled around the main room, an endless, bare-bones hall with scattered groups conversing or people winking in and out in a flash.

Marlene kept panning back and forth, watching the conversation bubbles above people's heads. He's got to be here, he's always here. Two things about Aragorn — the man never leaves, and he never shuts up, she told herself.

She finally found the person she was looking for, surrounded by neophyte hackers, all enthralled by a story he was telling that she had heard at least three times. Out of respect, she waited until he had finished — she needed his help, and antagonizing him by interrupting wouldn't help anything.

"…so I wait until the right moment, then send the program. Every telephone in the Pentagon rang at once, and when they picked up, they heard that old McDonald's jingle. They were talking about it for months afterward, and investigating the phone company, and any other phreakers they could get their hands on. Me, I was long gone by then. Course, this was all waaaay back in the day, when geeks like me broke into phone companies with my trusty Commodore 64 and a 1200-baud modem. Times change, boys and girls, times do change."

The sycophants muttered excitedly among themselves. Marlene took the opportunity to send a private message to the tall blond man dressed in a fantasy ranger's outfit, complete with two swords and a long leather coat, holding court at the center of the group.

"Gorn, it's me, Katt."

The avatar's eyes lit up at seeing the guest avatar, but his expression quickly turned suspicious. "You sure you got the right guy, newbie?"

"If I got the guy who went to juvie for eighteen months because of that Pentagon prank, then yeah, I got the right guy."

The handsome blond head snorted. "Lots of people know that story. How do I know it's really you?"

Marlene tamped down on her anger, knowing that the situation was making her edgy. In his place, she'd do the exact same thing. "Because when we both got drunk one night, you showed my your tattoo, and made me promise never to tell about Betty B…"

"All right, all right, I believe you — no need to be spreading those vicious lies. That really you, Katt? What are you doing running a clone?"

"I'm incognito at the moment. I need your help. Can we continue this somewhere else?"

"Well, that's certainly intriguing. Your wish is my command." Marlene tried not to roll her eyes at his inane chivalry, but simply followed him through what looked like a blank stone wall. Remember, like him all you want, but don't trust him, she told herself. For all his lofty airs and patronizing demeanor toward the newbies, she knew Aragorn trusted one thing above just about anything else — cold, hard cash. Now that Ray was gone, he was the only one Marlene could turn to.

The encrypted entrance led into a lush sitting room decorated in some kind of strange mishmash of Victorian and baroque style, with cut-glass lamps and heavy, ornate, overstuffed, claw-footed furniture everywhere.

Aragorn shrugged out of his coat and slung himself onto a crimson-and-mahogany chaise longue, his appearance totally at odds with the room. He noticed her stare. "Oh, this. Just a moment…" His avatar flickered for a second, and just like that he was dressed in an elegant suit, complete with a dove-gray, cutaway coat with tails and matching trousers, a top hat on the seat beside him, and a raven-headed silver cane in his silk-gloved hand. "Is that better?"

Marlene shrugged. "It'll do. Are you sure we can't be seen or heard in here?"

Aragorn raised his hand and dragged it across the wall in answer. Where his fingers touched, the plush draperies and maple wainscoting faded away, replaced with an endless string of numbers and computer commands. She could read the code that swirled and ran in endless lines along the walls.

"Neat, huh? It's a shifting 128-bit encryption code, with a few tweaks inserted by yours truly, of course." His pixelated expression turned grave, as if he had actually noticed her demeanor, even in here. "Hey, Katt, what's up?"

"Ray's dead." She hadn't meant to blurt it out like that — indeed, her hands resisted typing out the words, fingers unwilling to press the keys, as if by not telling it to someone else, she could somehow will him back to life. But that's not an option — keeping myself alive now is.

"OMG! Really? What happened?"

She gave him an overview of the deal gone wrong and the carnage that had followed. "After I escaped, I holed up, then got in touch with you. I need somewhere safe to hide for a while, until I can figure out my plan."

"What's in it for me?"

"Since I still have what they hired us to get, I still want to complete the deal — the original payment in exchange for the program."

"That doesn't sound like the brightest idea you've ever had."

"Maybe not, but the money to be gained will set me up for a while, and I need it. Ten percent is yours if you help me out."

"Thirty-five."

"Fifteen."

"Thirty."

"Twenty."

He paused, and she knew she had him.

"Twenty-five, not one percent less."

Marlene knew she could have dickered him down a percent or two, but decided not to bother. She'd still call the shots, and once she was safe, there were plenty of ways to give him the slip, too. He was nothing compared to the people on her trail. "Deal," she offered.

"So, who'd you cross?" he asked.

"I'd rather not say at the moment."

Aragorn didn't like that. "Not a good way to begin our business arrangement, dear."

"Just bear with me for now. I have a pretty good idea who's behind this, but I'm not one hundred percent sure at the moment. I can tell you it's no one you've ever messed with — they deal with security in a more direct fashion."

"Kiss, kiss, bang, bang, eh? Hmm, all right, fair enough. You're near the station for the Chunnel — what a nasty name, sounds like some kind of venereal disease — so all aboard, my dear, and head to the City of Lights."

"All right, what happens there?" Marlene asked.

"It's best if you don't know. That way they can't get it out of you," Aragon replied.

"Oh, please. You don't have anything lined up yet, do you?"

"Give me a break! I don't have rescuers standing by at a moment's notice, ready to spring into action. Once you're out of the country, I'll contact you with more details, but until then, you're on your own. Suffice it to say that I will have a safe place for you prepared by the time you arrive. Now get going."

"I'm there. Thank you, Aragorn."

The avatar seemed to swell a bit at the mention of his name. "You're welcome — anything for Ray's sister. Now get going."

Marlene logged off, packed up her computer and hit the street. The city was waking up around her, and soon the sidewalk would be packed with people heading into or out of the train station. She strode toward it, as well, trying her best to be just another ordinary commuter in London.