Glenn rinsed his coffee mug in the kitchen sink. “All right, dude. The building is locked down. Your computer security is updated, but you’ll need a lot more. Your house doesn’t have a burglar alarm, right?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “No alarm.”
“Then that’s about all I can do for you. Make sure you get some pros in here tomorrow to clean up and secure your computers. One other thing. You own a gun?”
“No,” I replied, somewhat embarrassed.
“Good,” he replied, though his hard squint made me think he did not believe me. “No guns, Bryce. I mean it. They won’t send amateurs. The best covert operatives in the world will be assigned to this Remora Shadow thing.”
I half shrugged. In my shocked state of mind, I did not know how else to react.
Glenn said, “Don’t take ’em on. Just get out of here as fast as you can. Okay?”
“Yeah, no sweat,” I replied, more sarcastically than I intended.
“They probably won’t break into your place while you’re here. If you can ID them, that’d blow their covers. More likely while you’re out, but who knows? I could be wrong.”
My pulse quickened again, and I took a deep breath. My heartrate gradually returned to normal.
Facing Glenn, I said, “I appreciate all this, man. You don’t know.”
“You’d do the same for me.”
“Yeah, you bet.”
Glenn frowned as his eyes grew somber. “Bryce, there’s one more thing you ought to do. Drop Marisa Dupree as a client.”
The suggestion took me aback. “I can’t. Her hearing is Wednesday.”
He rolled his eyes. “Cut her loose. Refer her out. This whole case got too weird, too fast.”
For a brief moment, I weighed his suggestion. Someone had murdered Richard Kostas. Marisa had probably not told me the entire truth. Spies were targeting me, and Glenn thought their next move would be to break into my home and law office. The Circuit Court hearing was only three days away, and I would never be fully prepared for it. Winning the case seemed impossible.
I stretched the muscles of my neck and shoulders to relieve some tightness. “No, Marisa’s counting on me. I can’t throw her to the wolves.”
“Come on,” Glenn replied, shaking his head. “You’re just her lawyer. Someone else can step in and take over. If you were still with us, NSA would assign a security team to you. You’d have back-up. Man, you’re all alone with this.”
“I know, but it’s just ‘til Wednesday. I, um … I’ll be all right. Anyway, the judge won’t strike me from the case three days before a hearing.”
“You just got in, Bryce. There’re extenuating circumstances. You won’t know unless you try.”
“Yeah, true. It’s tempting … but I’m not bailing out.”
“Think it over some more. And keep your doors and windows locked.”
Glenn snatched his jacket from the coatrack and felt the leather for dampness. He put it on as I opened the front door. The wooden floorboards creaked as we stepped outside. Lampposts glowed toward the center of Bridgeford, but darkness enveloped my street. Only a few neighbors had turned on their porchlights. Crickets chirped in rising and falling tones as the storm thinned and rolled toward the east. Columns of moonlight shone through scattered breaks in the clouds.
On the far corner of my block, a car engine started and headlights switched on, illuminating the pavement away from us. I did not recognize the sedan. It was too far away for me to see the license plate. Perhaps paranoia was taking its toll. As the car drove away, its red taillights faded into the night.
Glenn said, “My work schedule is crazy this week, so I can’t come back here. Stay safe, Bryce.”
We shook hands. He went to his car. I returned inside, alone with my thoughts.
With the exception of my date with Jennifer, I had spent the weekend trying to figure out who had murdered Richard Kostas and who had the KEL drive with the stolen files. Hailey and I had visited Turning Creek Sporting Clays and discovered the dead-drops where Kostas passed on the files. Glenn and I had played racquetball, where he told me about the Remora Shadow. The article on Project Transparrior gave me insight about the underwater drone. Still, I had not figured out all the facts to develop a defense for Marisa.
Without the solution, I now had to prepare for the hearing.
The weekend had exhausted me. I paced the hallway of my office and debated flipping through Marisa’s file one more time. Maybe I had missed something. The tray to my fax machine next to Hailey’s desk held some papers, which was odd. No one used fax machines much anymore. The cover sheet was from Judge Elaine Arnetti of the Circuit Court for Chester County. It had no message on the cover sheet, just the handwritten date and the judge’s signature. She had sent me the fax Friday at 5:49 p.m. The judge had worked late on this case. Hailey already left for the day by then, so I was lucky to see this fax before Monday.
The rest of the fax was the temporary restraining order that precluded Richard Kostas, Marisa Dupree, or any of their agents and affiliates from conveying, transmitting, viewing, or otherwise using the proprietary information of Benton Dynamics, absent further order of the court.
Marisa had already given me a copy of the TRO, but the judge had made sure that I had a copy. As Marisa’s attorney, I was apparently covered by this order, as well. Technically, I was her agent. The judge probably did not want me rummaging through confidential files from Benton Dynamics.
Chances were that E.J. Nielsen drafted the TRO to be broad and encompassing, and the judge simply signed what opposing counsel had presented at the ex
