“Well, going home or to work is out of the question. If Andrews tried to kill you once, he’s not going to back off now. We’ve got to stay out of sight, find some proof that Andrews ordered that guy to kill Kenga and Albert Rousseau. And you.”
“How?” she asked.
He shrugged, and her head moved with his body. “There has to be some way to find that guy. Or something in the police files on Kenga and Albert that points toward either Andrews or the killer.”
“I’m not so sure,” Jennifer said. “Andrews is going to cover his tracks very well. He’s not stupid.”
She lifted off him and sat up. A small piece of paper that had been caught in the folds of her shirt fluttered to the ground. She reached over and picked it up. Her eyes scanned over what was written on the scrap, then she said, “Well, now I know how I survived.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was arguing with the killer, trying to persuade him that Veritas was shutting down the brain chip program and that he was being used. I thought I was getting through to him, but the last thing I remember is him clamping the chloroform over my face and telling me, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t believe you.’ I was sure he was going to push the car over the cliff.” She held up the paper so he could read what was written on it. “I guess he had a change of heart.”
Gordon focused on the paper.
“Well, that change of heart won’t get him in Andrews’s good books,” Gordon said. He propped himself against a nearby tree and watched the sun hover over the landscape. Completely out of nowhere, he wished he had a camera with him, the view was so spectacular. Then the thought of where they would stay washed over him. “You know any tasteless hotels in Richmond?” he asked.
“Tasteless? Why tasteless?”
“I don’t think using a credit card would be wise. Cash only. And you know what kind of place that gets you.”
“No, not really, but I’ll take your word for it.” She twisted so she could see the view. “You know, when I was a kid I used to make things up. Like if I was walking to school and it was snowy, I’d be trying to get there before the polar bears caught me. If a song came on, I’d be Diana Ross, singing into my curling iron.”
“Don’t think that’s too abnormal. I played a little Van Halen air guitar in my time.”
She laughed.“No, more than that. I really tried to transfer myself to somewhere else-anyplace but where I was. I didn’t have a happy childhood. Something changed when my little brother was born. I got downgraded to second fiddle. And after being the princess for so long, that’s a pretty tough demotion. God, I really didn’t want to be me.”
He stared at her for a minute, then asked, “So what happened? Why is Jennifer Pearce so okay now?”
“I think she learned the world isn’t perfect and that her parents didn’t mean to hurt her. She learned to forgive. And she learned to appreciate the things that she
“She’s a lucky woman.”
She smiled, and for a moment the anxiety and fear were gone, replaced with a feeling that life had brought her to where she should be. What the reason was or whether she would even live through this were unknowns. And instead of that scaring her, it excited and intrigued her. Having faced the very real possibility of dying and then having survived, she felt more alive than ever before. And just being close to Gordon gave her a sense of belonging that had eluded her for so long. He calmed her and at the same time made her feel that what she had done with her life was important. She liked that feeling. And she liked Gordon Buchanan.
In fact, she really liked Gordon Buchanan.
46
“Are you positive?” Bruce Andrews asked, reclining in his leather chair, the Richmond skyline visible out his office window. Clouds had crept in and intermittent rain threatened.
“Absolutely, Mr. Andrews,” the technician said. “They definitely logged in under Dr. Pearce’s ID.”
“What time?” He finished the last of his coffee and set the mug on his desk.
“Two-thirteen RM. About forty minutes ago.”
“Where did she sign in from?”
“The main branch of the public library.”
“And you said she accessed the accounting files for her department, the brain chip department, and the White Oak labs.”
“Yes, sir. That and every open file the legal department has on Triaxcion. She was inside some personnel files as well: the files on Kenga Bakcsi and Albert Rousseau. That’s how we saw that she was in the mainframe-she’s not authorized to access those files.”
“Then how did she get into them?”Andrews asked, perturbed.
“She bypassed the firewall somehow. We’re not sure at this point, but it appears she knew the IP address and somehow came up with a port number. She would appear to be a very resourceful woman.”
“Yes, very resourceful. Thanks-that’s all for now. And please don’t mention this to anyone. This is highly confidential.”
The man nodded that he understood and left the office. Bruce Andrews picked up his private line and placed a call. “It would appear Jennifer Pearce is still with us,” he said.
“What? I thought your guy had taken care of her,” the voice said.
“I thought so too. It’s Wednesday afternoon, so she’s been running around for at least twelve hours getting into God only knows what.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“She signed into the company mainframe from the main branch of the public library about an hour ago. Take a photo of her with you and ask around. Be discreet. Find out if it was really her using the computer. And if she’s still with us, I’d like you to fly out to Denver tonight.”
“I’d be glad to. Ziegler should have been gone a long time ago. I told you that son of a bitch would be trouble.”
“Well, looks like you were right. Now you get to take care of it.”
“Like I said, I’d be glad to. I’m off to the library.”
“Thanks,” Andrews said, and hung up. He thought about that for a minute and realized it wasn’t often that he thanked people for doing things. But this time his colleague deserved it. It was he who had said bringing in Evan Ziegler was a bad idea. Retired navy SEALs were a different bunch, deadly and often tired of taking orders. And now he was relying on the man who’d said Ziegler was bad news to terminate him. Strange how things worked sometimes.
In retrospect, teaming up with his clandestine partner had been an excellent idea. Because of his position, the man had provided services most people wouldn’t even dream existed. He was capable of opening doors-or shutting them, for that matter-when the timing was right. The organization he worked for had resources beyond imagination, and on a few occasions they had relied on those resources to keep things on track. And they were still on track.
“So close now,” Andrews said to himself. “So close.”
Andrews busied himself with damage control on the accounting problem. If Jennifer Pearce had noticed the deviations in standard accounting practices, moving operating expenses across to the research side of the ledger, then the forensic auditors wouldn’t be far behind. And right now the last thing he needed was any attention drawn to the company. Time was a nebulous factor, an unknown. But one time frame he had to operate within was the expiry date on his options to purchase three million common shares of Veritas. And that date was looming in the near future. December 15 wasn’t that far away, and time had a habit of sneaking by when you weren’t looking. The phone attached to his private line rang and he picked up the receiver.
“It was definitely her,” the man said. “The librarian positively identified Jennifer Pearce. And guess who was with her?”
Andrews’s hand tightened on the phone. “Buchanan?”
