Jamie Freveletti - Running Dark

“Hi, Mr. Banner.”

Alicia Compton was twenty years old and working her way through community college. She was diligent and friendly, and she sported short neon-red hair, double earrings in both ears, and heavy goth eyeliner. Banner was doubtful about the two small tattoos inked on her upper shoulders. One said PAX and the other VIRTUS. While Banner applauded the sentiments, he wasn’t a fan of tattoos on women. When he’d commented about them to his vice president, Carol Stromeyer, who was responsible for hiring the girl, Stromeyer had warned him to keep his mouth shut.

“It’s not appropriate to comment on them. She’s smart, industrious, and honest. Frankly, employees like her are hard to find. She could be covered with them and I’d still be thankful to have her.”

“She’s quite pretty. Why ink her body? Used to be only drunken sailors got tattoos.”

“You sound like you’re in your eighties, not your forties.”

“It’s the truth, though.”

“ I’m in my forties. What if I told you I had a tattoo somewhere?”

Banner had only grunted in reply. But later, alone, he’d spent quite a few nights wondering just where Stromeyer’s tattoo would be, and the fact that she might have one wasn’t off-putting at all.

Now he strode into her office to find her standing at her desk staring at a small machine placed there that blinked red in a silent, hysterical cadence. Her light brown hair streaked with blond flowed over her face, obscuring half of it. A crease lined her forehead as she frowned at the device. She put up a hand for silence. Banner waited while she scribbled a note on a pad. She held it up for him to read.

“Bug detector. Was blinking before, went crazy when you stepped in. Drop your cell and meet me in the courtyard.”

Banner removed his cell phone, placing it gently on her desk.

The courtyard began at the base of a sweeping stairway. The May air was just cool enough to deter any outdoor activity. They were alone and could talk in peace. Banner watched as Stromeyer, in a wrap dress and heels, moved with her characteristic efficiency of motion. Like Banner, Stromeyer was former military. When he’d first met her, she was wearing a uniform, and she marched rather than walked wherever she went. Since she’d joined Darkview, her march had softened a bit, as if she had exhaled and relaxed. He’d worked with her for three years, and each year she seemed to grow deeper into the vice-president role. She was able to change direction in a heartbeat and with a flexibility demanded by corporate America but not often found in the armed services. Most of their contracts flowed from the Department of Defense, though, and during those meetings she maintained her military demeanor.

She turned to him. “So who do you think is tapping us?”

Banner smiled. “Hello, Banner, how was the congressional hearing? Did you bury Cooley? Or did he bury you?”

She laughed. “I don’t have to ask. I watched it on closed-circuit television in between signing endless copies of our expense report in triplicate. You did great, although I got concerned when you kept talking over Ralston’s objections. We pay him a lot of money to protect you. You should listen to him.”

“If Ralston got his wish, I wouldn’t have said a word. I thought it better to give Cooley a little bit rather than shut him down entirely. By the way, I received a call from Emma Caldridge. She’s in trouble.” Banner filled Stromeyer in on the call and the cryptic message.

“You think this has anything to do with our phones being tapped?”

“Maybe. Tell me what you know.”

“Even after our bimonthly sweep—which turned up clean, incidentally—I kept hearing clicks on the phone. I thought the noises were suspicious. I bought that little device two days ago. It searches for physical bugs at the actual location, and it confirmed that our offices are tapped. Now I just need to find the transmitter. But the way it went crazy when you walked in told me that your cell phone must be carrying a physical bug. Has it been out of your control?”

Banner shook his head. “Not at all. When I got the thing, I made sure to disable the GPS as well. Who would use physical bugs anymore? You don’t have to get near the actual phones, or even into our offices, to tap them.”

“I agree, but the machine seems to think we’ve got a bug. And there’s more.” She handed him a letter. “Got it today. It’s from the IRS. We’re being audited.”

Banner read the terse request for information. “This is Cooley’s doing, you know that.”

Stromeyer took back the paper. “There’s no end to the harassment. It’s entirely possible he’s behind the tap as well.” She looked glum. “Where’s Caldridge now?”

“In South Africa, running the Comrades ultramarathon.”

Stromeyer frowned. “Where the bomb went off? Maybe she’s right to be worried.”

The sound of a closing door echoed in the courtyard. They both looked up the staircase to the broad terrace. A man and a woman, presumably employees from one of the offices in the building, stepped out. Banner watched as both people put cigarettes to their lips, lit them with plastic lighters, and inhaled, their eyes closed in bliss.

“Addicts.” Stromeyer’s voice was filled with good humor.

“I used to be addicted,” Banner said.

Stromeyer raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Why the shocked look?”

“I just can’t imagine you doing anything so…” She waved a hand in the air, as if searching for the word.

“Weak?”

She laughed. “Unhealthy. You’re such a fitness freak.”

“Thank you,” Banner said.

She wagged a finger at him. “Rigid self-control is not always a good thing. Everyone needs a vice, no matter how minor.”

Banner jerked his head toward the stairs, and they both started up. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Let’s bring Caldridge in. I don’t like what’s happening here.”

Banner held the door for Stromeyer. “What do you think is happening?”

“I think someone’s after us all.”

11

KARL TARRANT WALKED INTO A SMALL PATHWAY BETWEEN TWOramshackle houses close to Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. It was eleven o’clock at night, and the working crowd, what little existed in this neighborhood, was long gone. The seasonal spring day had faded into a crisp evening. Cars whizzed down the street, each one hitting a metal square in the middle that covered a pothole. The repeated clanging sound frayed Tarrant’s already jangled nerves. His teeth chattered in response to a chill that was not from the night air but from within. He hadn’t had a hit in over thirty-six hours. His hands shook and his head ached as he waited for the one thing that would make all his pains go away.

The African in the overcoat strolled toward him as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Tarrant felt a mixture of relief and disgust. Relief because his physical troubles were at an end, disgust because the man had botched the job Tarrant had hired him to do. The man stopped before him.

“Here.” He handed Tarrant a bottle marked IBUPROFEN. The bottle actually contained black-market OxyContin.

Tarrant was outraged. “One bottle? That’s it? What the hell am I going to do with one bottle, eh? Won’t last a week.”

“Relax. I put ten more in a bag and left them in our usual spot. I just figured you’d be hurting by now and thought I’d bring you some relief.”

Tarrant snorted. He shook out two capsules and swallowed them. They stuck a little on the way down, but he didn’t care. He needed them, not water. “Glad you’re so thoughtful. I only wish you’d done what I asked you to do.”

The African shrugged. “We got her with the pen, didn’t we?”