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.
16
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.
Bridger pointed across the road with the bar. 'There.'
'Why don't we just drive over there?'
'No.' He pointed again. 'There.'
Kewan saw now that the bar wasn't pointing across the street, but at the street-at a manhole cover.
'What?'
As soon as the lone car passed, Bridger walked to the middle of the road, stuck the end of the bar through a hole in the manhole cover, and levered it free. He pushed it aside and gestured to the opening.
'In you go.'
'Like hell.'
Bridger dropped the bar inside, then slipped through, disappearing through the hole. A flashlight beam speared up from the opening.
'Hurry your ass down here before a car comes!'
Well, okay, Kewan thought. Long as you're in there first.
He eased down. His feet landed in about an inch of water as he found himself in a concrete pipe about four feet high.
Shit!
He crouched as Bridger popped his head and an arm back through the hole and used the bar to maneuver the cover back into place.
