“Not bad. The FBI showed up and took all the laptops and downlinks.”
“They’ve been calling every hour on the hour, the pricks. They’d like to speak to me, Charlie, and Wayne, and they say they have a warrant to seize my plane, the CID, and the Tin Man. I referred their butts to the legal department.”
“That’ll delay them a little bit, but not for long. Where are you?”
“Classified. Hush-hush.”
“We’re secure.”
“You think so? I don’t.”
Patrick paused. “The comparative analysis that your sensor software does: it looks for
“I told you that already. It flags unusual changes in travel patterns over time. Where are you?”
“In my office. We’re camping out here for the night. You heard about my trailer?”
“On the news,” Jon said. “If you need anything, let me know. Gia is okay racking out in your office with Brad?”
“She’s MIA.”
“Again?”
“Again.”
“Sorry, bro.”
“All this was too much for her, I guess.”
“If she wants to hang with the McLanahans, she’s got to toughen up her act more than a few notches,” Jon said. “I’ve worked with you for fifteen years and I’m
“Your middle name is ‘upshift,’ ” Patrick said. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For being there,” Patrick said. “For standing beside me.”
“I stand for nothing but the science and the profit, my friend,” Jon said. “Everything else is… oh, hell, I don’t know. If I’m standing anywhere, it’s with my hand out, expecting renumeration. Ideas, gadgets, and juicy contracts, that’s what I’m all about. You want anything else — well, pay me first, and then we’ll talk.”
“Sure,” Patrick said.
“You see anything interesting in those sensor images?” Jon asked.
“No — I don’t get it,” Patrick said, frowning at the laptop. “I mean, I see the flags, but there’s nothing there that I can see.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the biggest cluster of flags is around one of the copper mines around here that belongs to Judah Andorsen,” Patrick said. “It’s called Freedom-7. But why the flags? It’s a mine. They have trucks coming and going all the time. They take ore to a railroad spur that takes it to a main rail line and on to the smelters.”
“But remember, Patrick, that the computer records and compares normal activity, and then flags unusual activity.”
“I know. I get it.”
“Then you’ve got unusual activity out there, my friend,” Jon said. “Normal truck or rail movements wouldn’t be flagged after a few passes. Stop trying to rationalize it. If the computer flagged it, especially over several days, something’s going on down there, and you should go take a look.”
“That’s a problem too. They seized my plane and all the other planes with the sensors on them.”
“Pricks. Can you send me some of those images and let me take a look?”
“Sure.” It took just a couple mouse clicks to send a series of sensor images to Jon’s secure e-mail address. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m still talking with the legal beagles, but they’re saying I have to go and turn myself in eventually — sooner, rather than later,” Jon said. “I’ll probably fly the Skytrain back to Battle Mountain with the other gadgets. What about you?”
“Not a hell of a lot else I can do except hang around here.”
“Well, I’ll probably see you out there soon, maybe even tomorrow if the legal department arranges the surrender that quickly,” Jon said, “and then we can hang out together.”
“See you soon, then.” The connection was terminated.
Patrick stared at the sensor images for a few more minutes, then made another phone call. “Hello?”
“Hi, David. It’s Patrick McLanahan. Hope I’m not calling too late.”
“No, not at all, sir,” David Bellville said. “I was just watching the latest blasts from your good friend Joseph Gardner on the evening news. Where does that guy get off saying all that nonsense?”
“Because the press likes controversy, and no one wants to take on an ex-president,” Patrick said. “Listen, I’ve been looking over the sensor images, and I see a bunch of flags that I think we need to take a look at.”
“Where?”
“One of the Andorsen mines down near Mount Callahan.”
“Freedom-7,” David said. “Me and Fid go hunting down near there every year. I’ve got work all day tomorrow, but I’ll ask Leif if he wants to go — he knows that area better than I do. I’ll have him take Fid along if he’s available. The guy’s been asking all over town about a job — maybe a ride will cheer him up.”
“Thanks, David. I’ll e-mail the images of the area the computer flagged to Leif. Let me know what he finds.”
“Will do. Sorry about your trailer. If you need anything at all, just holler.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Patrick felt as if he had only gotten a couple minutes’ sleep when he heard a loud pounding on his office door. When he opened the door, he found FBI special agent Chastain and two other agents with jackets emblazoned with FBI. “Executing the warrant to search your office, McLanahan,” he said, pushing past Patrick into the room.
“You searched it yesterday.”
“I’m searching it again.” He stepped past Brad and went right over to the desk. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the laptop computer.
“I want my attorney before I’ll answer any questions,” Patrick said.
“You’ll need one, mister,” Chastain said. He found the collection of flash drives and stared at Patrick angrily. “Withholding evidence? Putting you away will be a slam dunk, McLanahan.” He and the other agents collected the laptop and flash drives, quickly searched the desk, then departed.
“What did he mean, ‘withholding evidence,’ Dad?” Brad asked.
“We didn’t withhold anything, big guy,” Patrick said. “The flash drives are just backups — they have the same data as the laptops they seized. And the laptop is new — we just bought it yesterday. He’s trying to intimidate us, Brad — that’s how he operates. He makes people feel afraid so they’ll either talk when they’re not supposed to, or start to lie, and then he’s got you.” Patrick had a troubled look on his face; he shook it off a few moments later, then clapped his hands. “Well, we’re up, so we might as well get moving.”
After breakfast at the nearly deserted base-exchange cafeteria, they went past the front gate back out to the housing area. J. Andorsen Construction crews were busy repairing the highway from the deadly bomb blast that seemed like an eternity ago but in fact was only two days. A security-forces cruiser was parked just in back of the entrance, and Patrick noticed an unmanned Avenger parked behind the former data-processing center about a quarter of a mile away.
At the taped-off investigation-scene boundary, which was a couple blocks away from where his trailer used to be, Patrick found the deputy fire chief. “Any information on the explosive, Chief?” he asked.
“Preliminarily, they’re saying it was RDX, General,” the fire chief said after checking around to see who might be in earshot — obviously he wasn’t supposed to be sharing information with anyone. “Pretty common explosive in the military and industry, fairly easy to handle, easy to mix with plasticizing materials, easy to store — a favorite with terrorists. They say it was about three pounds, based on the blast radius. They haven’t found the trigger device but it’s a good bet it was a remote detonator, probably using a cell phone. It was probably tossed out of a vehicle — they’re checking surveillance videos. It looks like they weren’t sure which trailer was yours, because the trailers near yours were vacant where the blast occurred; since you were away also, they might’ve been confused.” He looked at Patrick, concern evident on his face. “Looks like you have some pretty serious enemies, General.”
