you do that from here?”
“Yes, but I’m sure Miles would already have told the FBI agents at EROS if the Strobekker account was active.”
Lenz gives me a look that makes plain how little faith he has in Miles’s motives.
From the Toshiba I log in as SYSOP TWO, give my password, and run an account search for STROBEKKER, DAVID M.
“Not among those present,” I say, and push the chair away from the Toshiba. “Look, I really need to call my wife. It won’t take more than a couple of minutes.”
“Well, get me started at something,” Lenz says.
I wave him out of his chair and mouse him into a lobby room with about ten people in it. “Just read what comes up on your screen. Get a feel for the conversational style. If somebody asks you anything, ignore them. I’ll be back in no time.”
“Use my cellular,” he advises. “It’s secure. Punch seven-seven-seven-six before you dial your home number. And don’t put a one in front of the area code. And don’t take too long. I want you right here when I get a nibble.”
A
“Harper?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God.”
“Are you okay?”
“I was worried. Are you calling from a plane?”
“No. I’m still in Washington. Virginia, really.”
“You sound like you’re in a plane.”
“It’s too complicated to explain. But I should be home before morning. Any more police harassment?”
“No. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. I did get one call, though. From that New Orleans detective.”
“Mayeux?”
“Yes. He’s worried about you. He said he didn’t know where you were, but he had a feeling you were with the FBI. He told me to warn you not to trust them, Harper. He said the FBI will use you while they need you, then throw you to the dogs.”
I hear a muffled “Cole?” from inside Lenz’s room. “I’ve got to go, Drewe. Tell your dad everything’s under control. I know he’s worried about all this.”
“Not right now he’s not. All he can think about right now is Erin.”
My heart stutters. “Erin? Why’s that?”
“She and Patrick are having problems again. When I got home tonight she was sitting on our steps with Holly. She drove over from Jackson because she didn’t want to be there when Patrick got home. We drank coffee and played with Holly for hours. Then she went to Mom and Dad’s to spend the night.”
“She wouldn’t be specific, but it’s serious. Patrick called four times, and he sounded angrier every time.”
“Is Holly okay?”
“She senses the tension, but I think Erin and Patrick know enough not to fight in front of her.”
I wonder. The likely source of Patrick’s “tension” could turn any man violent.
“Don’t worry about that stuff,” Drewe says buoyantly. “Just take care of the police problem and get back here. I love you, you know.”
“I love you too.” A brief silence. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
I shut off Lenz’s cell phone and lean against the wall, my right cheek flush against the cool sheetrock.
“Mr. Cole? You okay?”
Special Agent Margie Ressler is standing before me with a tray piled with sliced pizza, paper towels, a glass of ice, and a Diet Coke. She looks like a waitress in a college town, where restaurants are blessed with a pool of potential employees overqualified in every department.
“You look like you’re in a daze,” she says.
“I’m fine.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“It’s been awhile.”
“Here.” She holds a slice of pizza within biting distance. Something about Agent Ressler encourages informality, so I lean forward and take a bite. The spicy cheese is a moist explosion in my mouth.
“Mmmm. Better than crawfish etouffee.”
She grimaces. “I’d think anything was better than that.”
“Ever had it?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t know what you’re slandering.”
She laughs lightly. “You don’t look like most computer jocks I know.”
“That’s because I’m not one. I’ve got a knack for applications, but that’s it. I guess it’s sort of like driving a car. I’m a good driver, but I couldn’t rebuild an engine if my life depended on it.”
“I’ll bet you can change the oil, though.”
“Are we flirting, Agent Ressler?”
She grins. “I guess we are. Call me Margie. I think I’m flirting because I know I might be trapped here for a long time.”
“It seems like dangerous duty.”
“Decoy work?”
“Yes. I guess you’ve done it a lot, though.”
“No. This is my first time. I’ve only been out of the academy a couple of years.”
Margie laughs. “He sounds mad.” She drops her voice. “I wouldn’t want that bird mad at me. He’s a strange one.”
“He grows on you.” I smile and slip the cell phone into my pants pocket. “I’ll take the tray, Margie. You be careful.”
“No sweat,” she says with a toss of her hair. Then she turns and trots back down the stairs.
At the bedroom door I pause. I’d intended to make one other call while out here. Eleanor Rigby. Miles interrupted my first attempt to warn her off EROS, and I haven’t managed to do it since. The hard bulge of the cell phone in my pocket offers a chance, but instinct tells me that any number I call on the “secure” FBI phone could later be identified and traced to a name. I’ll have to find another way.
“This is fascinating,” Lenz says as I enter the room. “These conversations are a free-for-all.”
“You mean threads,” I correct him, setting down the tray.
“Threads?”
“That’s the on-line term for conversation, on EROS anyway. On other services ‘chat’ is the correct term, but on EROS ‘thread’ covers pretty much any conversation. In special interest forums, a ‘thread’ is where a few people get on one subject and everyone puts in their two cents’ worth. Like ‘Coping with AIDS’ in the gay forum. Any time of day or night, clients can read what’s already been said and post a reply if they want.”
I sit down in the swivel chair and begin munching on the pizza. “Let’s scan the forum headings, just to give you an idea of what’s out there.”
I click the mouse on GENERAL INTEREST FORUMS, and the thread headings appear in a column window:
ABORTION RIGHTS UPDATE
ACTS OF LOVE [
