F Wilson - Fatal Error

He followed Jack to the paint department at the rear of the store. They stopped at the display of color cards. Jack pulled a group from the brown section and turned to him.

"Give me your hand."

Baffled, Munir watched as Jack placed one of the color cards against the back of his hand, then tossed it away. And again. One after another until "Here we go. Perfect match."

"We're buying paint?"

"No. We're buying flesh-specifically, flesh with Golden Mocha number one-sixty-nine skin. Let's go."

And then they were moving again. Jack slapped a ten-dollar bill on the counter as he passed.

"What's that for?" Teddy said.

"Your trouble. Hang in there, Teddy."

"Like I got a choice."

And then they were back in the cab. Jack directed the driver to the East Side now, up First Avenue to Thirty-first Street-Bellevue Hospital. He ran inside with the color card, then came out and jumped back into the cab empty-handed.

"Okay. Next stop is your office."

"My office? Why?"

"Because we've got hours to kill and we might as well use them to look up everyone you fired in the past year."

Munir thought this was futile but he had given himself into Jack's hands. He had to trust him. And as exhausted as he was, sleep was out of the question.

He gave the driver the address of the Saud Petrol offices.

Kris Szeto knocked on the door of apartment 7C and waited. He'd already checked A and B, so now it was C's turn. Best to search in an orderly fashion. Much less apt to miss something.

The photo of the woman had come attached to an email from the Grand Paladin of the Dormentalist temple on Lexington Avenue. A Dormentalist woman had spotted someone who looked like Louise Myers-Drexler had begun referring to her as Louise Connell, but she would always be Louise Myers to Kris.

Because he hated Louise Myers.

To the Dormentalist's credit, she had followed the woman to her apartment, even knew her floor, and somehow had managed to take a picture of her.

It all sounded perfect, but the resultant photo was blurry and the lighting poor. The woman in the photo did resemble Louise Myers, but Kris saw enough differences to make him wonder. Last year they had tracked her to Wyoming through her debit card.

Since he was the only one left alive who had seen Louise Myers in the flesh, it had fallen to him to follow her there. But the trail had dried up. Now she was back in the city. Couldn't stay away, apparently. Not that he blamed her. He blamed her for many things, but he'd been to Wyoming and wouldn't want to stay there either.

And since he was the only one left alive who could recognize her, he was here to make certain this was the woman they sought.

The only one left alive…

He ground his teeth at the good men he had sent after her who had never come back… at least not alive. Shot to death, one and all. Drexler said it couldn't have been her, but Kris wasn't so sure.

When Kris had seen her she'd been comatose in a hospital bed. Was that why he was still alive? Because she'd been unconscious.

A woman's voice spoke through the door.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, please. I live on fifth floor and I am looking for my dog."

"Sorry. I haven't seen any dogs."

Wasn't she going to open the damn door?

"Please?"

He took one of the fliers he had brought along and held it up to the peephole. He'd found a picture of something called a shih chon-a sickeningly cute cross between a shih tzu and a bichon-and had printed a close-up of its face on the flier. He figured it would be irresistible.

"I haven't seen a single dog on this floor."

Still the door remained closed.

"I did not think you would. He got off leash outside. Would you please keep watch for him?"

Locks clicked and the door opened a few inches. Kris noticed a chain pulled tight across the opening. A woman's face appeared.

Despite his training and experience, he couldn't help a short, sharp intake of breath.

Louise Myers.

Thinner, longer hair, but her. No question. His first instinct was to kick down the door and strangle her.

"Are you all right?" she said.

"Yes. I mean, no. My wife and I are very attached to our Binky."

She smiled and seemed to relax. "Binky?"

He forced a smile. "Yes. A long story. But if you see him about, that is name he will answer to. Grab him if you can-he is friendly-but if you cannot, just follow him and call that number. We are offering five-thousand-dollar reward."

He passed the flier through the opening and she took it.

So easy to grab her wrist and yank it through. Then he'd "I'll keep my eyes open."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

The door closed and he walked away.

Mission accomplished.

Drexler wanted only her address, nothing else. Not even observation. Simply a location.

But Kris wanted so much more.

Ohio, Kewan thought as he trudged through the dark up a rise behind a guy he'd met only a few hours ago. The fuck am I doing in Ohio?

He'd been ushered into a car right after this morning's meeting and driven out to the middle of nowhere. He'd been met by this white guy named Clinton Bridger who'd be putting him up and showing him the ropes. Exactly what ropes, no one was saying.

He thought it had been cold in the city, but here was much worse. The wind-damn, it cut like a razor. Even with his hooded parka and heavy pants, he was freezing his nuts off. Bridger didn't seem to mind. Maybe it was that thick biker mustache, or maybe he was wearing long johns.

Better question: The fuck am I doing in Ohio freezing my ass off near midnight in the middle of open country?

When they reached the top of the rise, Bridger pointed to a brightly lit building about a quarter mile away.

"There you go," he said.

Kewan was puffing. "Looks like a warehouse."

"It's not. It's the McVicker IXP."

Kewan knew what that meant: Internet exchange point.

"Oh, like a super data center."

"More like data center to the nth power. An IXP is where all sorts of ISPs crisscross and share information. Take that out and a shitload of people don't have Internet."

"So that's our next target?"

"Lemme tell you about that place, friend."

They weren't friends, but Kewan let it pass.

"They chose this spot because we don't get earthquakes, tornadoes, hurricanes, or floods around here. It's got two electric supplies from two separate substations, plus its own generators. The walls are foot-thick reinforced concrete with Kevlar lining. What few small windows it's got are bomb-resistant laminated glass. And the air handlers inside can be set to recirculate in case of a gas attack. See those planters ringing the place? They're really bollards. Plus they've got two staggered sets of retractable bollards at the gate. Only two ways into the building-the front door and the loading dock. The fire doors are exit only. Security cameras are everywhere. And even if you get inside, there are more layers of security within."

Kewan stared at the place. "So you're telling me getting in's a bitch."

"More than a bitch. Nigh on impossible."

"So what do we do?"

He started back down the rise and waved for Kewan to follow.

They got into his pickup truck-still holding a little warmth since when they left it-and drove about a mile along a four-lane county road, where Bridger stopped on the shoulder. He pulled some sort of crowbar from behind his seat and hopped out.

"Come on."

Back into the cold. Damn.

He joined Bridger by the rear of the truck where he stood watching the traffic. Wasn't much. Just one set of lights coming their way from the left.

"Where we going?" Kewan said, rubbing his gloved hands and shivering.