Michael Connelly - The Scarecrow

The three agents comprising the FBI Electronic Evidence Retrieval team had commandeered the three workstations in the control room. Carver was left pacing behind them and occasionally looking over their shoulders at their screens. He wasn’t worried because he knew they would find only what he wanted them to find. But he had to act like he was worried. After all, what was happening here was threatening the reputation of Western Data and its business across the country.

“Mr. Carver, you really need to relax,” Agent Torres said. “It’s going to be a long night and your pacing back and forth like that will only make it longer-for you and us.”

“Sorry,” Carver said. “I’m just worried about what this is all going to mean, you know?”

“Yes, sir, we understand,” Torres said. “Why don’t you-”

The agent was interrupted by the sound of “Riders on the Storm” coming from the pocket of Carver’s lab coat.

“Excuse me,” Carver said.

He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and answered it.

“It’s me,” Freddy Stone said.

“Hi, there,” Carver said cheerily for the benefit of the agents.

“Have they found it yet?”

“Not yet. I’m still here and it’s going to be a while.”

“I go ahead with the plan then?”

“You’ll just have to play without me.”

“This is my test, isn’t it? I have to prove myself to you.”

He said it with a slight note of indignation.

“After what happened last week, I’m happy to sit this one out.”

There was a pause and then Stone changed directions.

“Do those agents know who I am yet?”

“I don’t know but there’s nothing I can do about it right now. Work comes first. I’m sure I’ll be available next week and you can take my money again then.”

Carver hoped his lines fell within the bounds of poker talk for the listening agents.

“I’ll meet you later at the place?” Stone asked.

“Yes, my place. You bring the chips and beer. See you then. I gotta go.”

He ended the call and dropped the phone back into his pocket. Stone’s hedging and indignation was beginning to concern Carver. A few days ago he was begging for his life; today he didn’t like being told what to do. Carver began to second-guess himself. He probably should have ended it in the desert and put Stone in the hole with McGinnis and the dog. End of story. End of threat.

He could still do it. Later tonight maybe. Another two-for-one opportunity. It would be the end of the line for Stone and a lot of other things. Western Data would not be able to withstand the scandal. It would close and Carver would move on. By himself. Like before. He would take the lessons he had learned and begin again somewhere else. He was the Changeling. He knew he could do it.

I’m a changeling, see me change. I’m a changeling, see me change.

Torres turned from his screen and looked at Carver. Carver checked himself. Had he been humming?

“Poker night?” Torres asked.

“Yeah. Sorry for the intrusion.”

“Sorry you’re missing your game.”

“That’s okay. You guys are probably saving me fifty bucks.”

“The bureau is always happy to help out.”

Torres smiled and the other agent, the woman named Mowry, smiled, too.

Carver tried to smile but it felt phony and he stopped. The truth was, he had nothing to smile about.

I stayed in my hotel room the whole evening, writing most of the next day’s story and repeatedly calling Rachel. The story was easy to put together. I first talked to my ace, Prendergast, about it and wrote up a budget line. I sent that in and then started constructing the story. Though it was not going to run until the next news cycle, I already had the main components well in hand. Beginning the following morning I would gather the latest details and just stick them in.

That is, if I was given any new details. What had been a mild dose of paranoia bloomed into something larger when my hourly calls to Rachel’s cell went unanswered and the messages unreturned. My plans for the evening-and the future-hit the rocks of doubt.

Finally, just before eleven o’clock, my cell phone rang. The caller ID said Mesa Verde Inn. It was Rachel.

“How’s L.A.?” she asked.

“ L.A. ’s fine,” I said. “I’ve been trying to call you. Didn’t you get my messages?”

“I’m sorry. My phone died. I was on it so much earlier. I’m back at the hotel now and just checked in. Thank you for leaving my bag with the desk.”

The dead phone explanation sounded plausible. I started to relax.

“No problem,” I said. “What room did they put you in?”

“Seven seventeen. What about you, did you go back to your house after all?”

“No, I’m still at the hotel.”

“Really? I just called the Kyoto and they put me through to your room but I got no answer.”

“Oh. It must have been when I went down the hall to get ice.”

I stared at the bottle of Grand Embrace Cabernet I had gotten from room service.

“So,” I said, to change the subject, “are you in for the night, then?”

“Jeez, I hope so. I just ordered room service. I suppose I’ll get called back out if they find something at Western Data.”

“What do you mean, there are still people in there?”

“The EER team is still there. They’re guzzling Red Bull like it’s water and working on into the night. Carver’s with them. But I couldn’t go the distance. I had to get some food and sleep.”

“And Carver’s just going to let them work through the night?”

“Turns out the scarecrow is a night owl. He takes several midnight shifts every week. Says he gets his best work done then, so he’s cool with staying.”

“What’d you order to eat?”

“Good old comfort food. A cheeseburger and fries.”

I smiled.

“I had the same thing, but skipped the cheese. No Pyrat rum or wine?”

“Nope, now that I’m back on the bureau per diem, no alcohol allowed. Not that I couldn’t use it.”

I smiled but decided to get down to business first.

“So what’s the latest update on McGinnis and Stone?”

There was a hesitation in her response.

“Jack, I’m tired. It’s been a long day and I’ve been in that bunker for the last four hours. I was hoping I could eat my dinner, take a hot bath and we could just leave business for tomorrow.”

“Look, I’m tired, too, Rachel, but remember I let you push me out of the way on the promise you would keep me informed. I haven’t heard from you since I left the warehouse and now you’re telling me you’re too tired to talk.”

Another hesitation.

“Okay, okay, you’re right. So let’s get this over with. The update is that there is good and bad news. The good news is that we know who Freddy Stone really is and he’s not Freddy Stone. Knowing his real identity will hopefully help us run him down.”

“Freddy Stone’s an alias? How’d he get by the supposedly vaunted security screening at Western Data? Didn’t they check his prints?”

“The thing is, company records show Declan McGinnis signed off on hiring him. So he could have greased it.”

I nodded. McGinnis could have gotten his partner in murder into the company, no sweat.

“Okay, so who is he?”

I opened my backpack on the bed and took out a notebook and pen.

“His real name is Marc Courier. That’s Marc with a c . Same age, twenty-six, with two felony arrests in Illinois for fraud. He skipped three years ago before trial. They were identity theft cases. He got credit cards, opened bank accounts, the whole nine yards. His history indicates he’s a gifted hacker and vicious troll with a long history of digital breaches and assaults. He’s a bad guy and he was right there in the bunker.”