Джозеф Файндер - The Switch

No sooner had he punched off the burner than it rang again.

“There he is,” said the smooth baritone, that hard-to-place southern accent.

“What do you want?” Tanner said.

“Sucks not having the Internet, doesn’t it? I mean, I always hear people complaining about the tyranny of the Internet and I feel like saying, Try going without it. You know?”

“The bank idea was great, by the way. I almost fell for it.”

Earle laughed, a smoker’s hoarse laugh. “We had a deal, you and me. By my watch, it’s more than twenty-four hours. What happened?”

“Let me be clear,” Tanner said. “I know there’s classified documents on that laptop, but I haven’t looked at them. Because I knew I’d gotten this computer by mistake. Okay?”

“Good citizen, we like to hear that.”

“I’m not another Edward Snowden, I’m not a whistle-blower, and I have no interest in giving it to The New York Times. But I will if I have to.” That wasn’t just some bluff. It was leverage. Probably The New York Times would require the actual laptop, not just e-mailed files. Go to them with only the files and you’re just another tinfoil-hat crazy.

“And you think The New York Times will do anything with it? You think they’re gonna put it online? Times like these, newspapers are a lot more circumspect about what they print. Those few newspapers that still exist, I mean.”

Tanner wondered: Did they have some way to locate him physically via the burner phone? He didn’t know, of course. But it didn’t seem likely. Not with a disposable mobile phone. Anyway, if they could have found him that way, they’d have found him already. So maybe he was safe talking on this burner after all.

“That’s not all I got,” Tanner said.

“I’ve seen the video. You got nothing, my friend.”

“Oh, yeah? According to the NSA charter, you guys aren’t allowed to operate domestically.”

“It’s not that simple, Michael.”

“We’ll see how simple it is when the ACLU gets a copy. And The New York Times. That video captured at least three faces very clearly. This is evidence you are operating within the US in violation of your charter. Plus, if any of them are undercover guys, their cover is now blown. Or burned, or whatever you say. I could post it myself, on YouTube.”

“And it would disappear within seconds, I promise you.”

“Not if I give it to a journalist. It’s a big story.”

“I don’t know if there’s a newspaper ballsy enough to damage our national security by running it. Anyway, the video is no longer in your inbox.”

“That’s not the only copy,” Tanner took pleasure in saying. “There are plenty of backups.” There was one, anyway, in his new Yahoo e-mail inbox. They still hadn’t gotten to that one yet.

Earle sighed noisily. “I wish to hell you wouldn’t do that. But what does it show, really? A bunch of guys in the woods? Are they geocachers? Are they Pokémon Go fanatics? Who’s to say? Oh, maybe you’ll spark some subreddit conspiracy group, with the kinda guys who believe that pizza parlors in DC keep child sex slaves. But what you’re peddling to the ACLU and The New York Times ? Hate to break it to you, Michael, but it looks more like an outtake from The Blair Witch Project 2 than, I don’t know, the Pentagon Papers.”

Tanner didn’t know how to reply, so he didn’t.

“We’re going to find it, you know,” Earle said. “We found your company safe, by the way. In the kitchen. Clever.”

“Thank you.”

“Sorry we had to break it to get it open. We’ll reimburse you. Anyway, you didn’t leave it there, which was smart. We’ll find it soon enough. And you too, Michael. It’s actually not possible to hide from the government anymore. The longer you stay out there, the more we’re gonna have to push, and you don’t want us to push, believe me. Maybe we freeze Tanner Roast’s assets, right? You know, with all the importing and the sales trips around Central America and Africa, your business might well be an entity of concern. And when we—”

Tanner disconnected the call. He’d heard enough. He had to get out of here.

Tanner went back into the public library and Googled for a few hours, took some notes on a scratchpad, made a list of what he’d soon need. Midafternoon, drained and in need of a caffeine fix, he went to McDonald’s. He was afraid to go into the groovy indie coffee shop, in case the owner, who knew him, was there. He didn’t want to be recognized.

Outside, on the next block, he found a hardware store. He took out his list and picked up a number of items: a flathead screwdriver, a Phillips-head screwdriver, a length of wire, a hammer, a little LED flashlight and batteries, wire cutters and strippers and electrical tape, a pair of insulated gloves. Then a jobsite backpack to carry it all around in. The total purchase was close to a hundred bucks. He paid cash, of course, and as he was waiting for everything to be bagged up, he counted the money in his wallet. He didn’t have a lot left. He needed more cash.

And with his account frozen, he was stuck. He couldn’t withdraw money. He couldn’t even try to use his credit cards or else Earle’s team would be immediately alerted, would see where he was. What did that leave? He could borrow from a friend, someone who knew he was good for it. Most of his friends, he imagined, would gladly lend him money. But who was it safe to contact? That was the problem. The friends he saw most often — the beer buddies — had to be ruled out. Or anyone he’d recently called, on any phone.

Or anyone he e-mailed. Unfortunately, by the time he ruled out anyone he’d been in touch with in recent memory, even the gang of buddies he went to Red Sox games with, he was left with a tier of friends he’d lost contact with. They were still friends, yes, but they were drifting away. He thought of a college friend, who like him had worked in a café in Boston during college to make money. Theo Oliveira. In college he was a musician, a keyboard artist, and he sometimes got paying gigs. A stoner, back then, and a bit of a flake. But a talented, nice guy. Last time they’d talked, which must have been at least five years ago, Theo was married to a fellow band member and lived somewhere in Acton, or thereabouts.

He mentally filed away Theo’s name. He had the impression that Theo was just scraping by, so maybe he wasn’t the best person to beg money from. But Theo would do what he could, Tanner was sure.

He returned to the library and located Theo Oliveira online, found his street address and phone number. He was living in the town of Carlisle, next to Concord. Then he watched a couple of YouTube videos on how to hot-wire a car, to remind himself. Apparently, hot-wiring a new car required a degree from MIT. The wires were hidden now, and there were immobilizer technology and smart keys. No, he’d have to find an older car.

As uncomfortable as he felt about stealing some poor guy’s car, he didn’t really have a choice: he needed to get around on not much money, out here where everything was fairly far apart, compared to Boston. Truth was, he didn’t have enough money for gas.

But there was the moral thing: Tanner wasn’t a thief. In all of his dealings with Tanner Roast, he was always scrupulously honest. To him, it was a matter of honor. And now he was going to break into someone’s car and steal it? Hard to justify. Except that he couldn’t see any alternative. The survival instinct made his moral qualms seem dispensable.

He hadn’t even stolen a car yet and he was already feeling guilty about it.

According to his library research, modern cars had become quite difficult to steal. Cars made since the mid-1990s had all sorts of antitheft devices like engine immobilizer technology. Video games like Grand Theft Auto made it all look so easy.