Turn or Burn (4 page)

“So they started building onto the Intranet from there, inventing new games and websites for Rachael. They got her to where she could navigate through as many websites as they felt like creating in order to find the green square. All using colors to lead the way. They were even able to teach her to scroll up and down. I saw all this with my own eyes in his lab last week.”

“And this is what he’s going to demonstrate at the Summit?”

“Exactly. Only a few people have seen it so far. He’s introducing it to the world tomorrow.”

“So what’s the plan now?”

“The doctor’s house,” he said. “We’re moving him now.”

Oh, Seattle…the land of Pearl Jam and Nirvana and Soundgarden and Jimi Hendrix. Though I couldn’t listen to music much anymore, it was music that seemed to define this place. A fog hid the skyline until we were right up on it. Like a burlesque dancer, the city slowly began to reveal itself as I hung a right onto I-5, first the Mariners’ and Seahawks’ stadiums and then the skyscrapers of downtown. I couldn’t see the surrounding mountains today, but I knew they were out there, and they’d dropped my jaw more times than I could count. Seattle was a magic city, filled with darkness and mystery and life.

Dr. Wilhelm Sebastian’s house was located a few blocks from the water on the top of the hill in Magnolia, a peninsula neighborhood northwest of Seattle that they called the “Island,” despite the facts. Tall bluffs lined the shore, dropping steeply down into the Puget Sound where the water bashed the cliffs on nasty days, splashing up toward the giant homes resting so close to the edge.

The house was full-on Art Deco—lots of glass and modern angles. The kind of place that “new money” (something Seattle has in spades) builds. I’m sure you could see the entire city and half the state from the front door when it was clear out. A cold May wind pushed its way inside the door as we entered the house. Hopefully it would warm up soon, but summer doesn’t start until July in Seattle, so I wasn’t holding my breath.

Our team was on high alert. The threatening phone calls were a big deal. They had the family scared out of their minds. Especially considering that the Summit was coming tomorrow. We had the phones tapped now. Not much we could do as far as being on the offensive. We had nothing to work with.

After I met the team, Ted sent me and his cousin, Francesca Daly, right back out into the gloom to walk the perimeter before we moved. Francesca Daly: not exactly what I’d expected. She looked nothing like Ted. I guess I was expecting some ultra-tall woman with a bald spot and fifteen-inch biceps. Not so. Francesca was classic Italian, borderline cliché. I could have guessed her name. Long brown hair with a bit of natural curl. Warm amber eyes. A little mole on her right cheek. She was medium height and in good shape and had the disciplined posture of a military-type.

We had barely even shaken hands when she decided to take a step way over onto my bad side.

I asked in the most courteous way, “Where are you from?” Looked her in the eyes, waiting on an answer.

She turned away from me. “Don’t look at me that way.” Her English came with a healthy Italian accent, and it sounded more British than American. “It’s not going to get you anywhere.” Yes,
those words
came out of her mouth. That took guts.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, lady,” I said. This Italian transplant had gotten the wrong idea. I flung out my hand and pointed at her. “Women are the last thing on my mind.”

“I bet.”

“Look, you might be Ted’s family. Hell, you could be his favorite person on earth, but that doesn’t mean I have to treat you like your shit smells like tulips. I’m here to do a job. If you are insecure about your good looks, you can take it somewhere else. I barely noticed.”

She wasn’t even looking at me. “Please. I know your kind, and I’m just saying, don’t bother.”

“You know what? You need to tell yourself that exact thing. Don’t bother, lady. In fact,” I added, putting two fingers under my eyes, “look at me for a second.”

She turned her head and put those brown eyes on me.

I continued. “Consider me married, unavailable, uninterested, gay, castrated, transgender, unisexual, and full of hate, all wrapped into one. You can even think of me as your grandma if you want. I wasn’t looking at you like I wanted to get into bed with you. If I happened to look you in the eyes, it was a sign of respect. Something you clearly don’t deserve. Now let’s get past this and go to work.”

She was floored. Mouth-dropped. Humbled. Saddened. Embarrassed. Like I’d flipped her skirt up on stage. I felt kind of bad about it.

After a few seconds, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all in the past. I’ve already forgotten.”

Sure, she was good-looking. Any idiot knew that. So are several million other women across the world. Her casual jeans and running shoes weren’t fooling anybody; she had one hell of a body, the kind you can’t create in the gym. Something you’re lucky enough to be born with, end of story. I didn’t care, though. Hadn’t cared about women in a long time. I’m just trying to take care of myself. That’s why her comment set me off.

“You want to head north?” I asked. “I’ll move down the hill. Meet you on the other side.”

She nodded, and we parted.

It is in the element of high alert that I dwell most comfortably. I worked my way down the hill, eyeing every window, every stopped car. The neighborhood was quiet. It was noon on a weekday. A few slow drivers were headed out to do whatever it was they did. Parked cars were on every block, their emergency brakes surely on. I’ve heard that the inhabitants of Magnolia can’t leave when it snows. They’d slide all the way down the hill. It was an expensive, safe neighborhood. We were making sure that we could move the doctor and his family to the armored Suburban without any problem. Once they were inside the vehicle, we were okay.

I turned back up the hill. Francesca was cutting the corner on the sidewalk. We looked like we lived somewhere around there, out for a leisurely stroll. But I kept looking up. I’ve been doing bodyguard work for years, and the problems generally come from up high. Windows, trees…any place where an enemy can get the advantage.

About six houses down on the opposite side, I picked up something. Saw a flash or reflection in the window. I didn’t like it. Instead of engaging immediately, I kept moving. Walked casually until I’d passed another house and was out of sight. I spoke into the hidden mic in my shirt. “I don’t like something over here. Want to help me out?”

Her voice came back through the wired earpiece wedged into my ear. “Are you still going down the hill?”

“Yep. Meet you at that Stop sign at the bottom.”

Five minutes later, we were together and focused on what was going on. Focused on saving lives. Absolutely no concern for our previous friction. We were professionals.

I looked up the hill and said, “The green house on the right. I saw some kind of movement, maybe a reflection—binoculars or something—in the second window from the east. It’s got an unobstructed view of the doctor’s driveway. I think it’s worth looking into.” As I said it, I really hoped I wasn’t crying wolf. My condition had made me slightly paranoid.

“Let’s do it. Go knock on the door.”

“Why don’t you do it?”

She nodded. “Stay behind me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She walked up the sidewalk and hung a right into the very short driveway. The driveway was empty. I cut through the neighbor’s yard and settled behind a line of bushes with a good view of the front of the million-dollar house. Two stories, green with white trim. Well-kept. Trimmed bushes. No lights on.

She knocked on the door.

As I have touched on already, the best part about not working for the government anymore was that I didn’t have to follow the rules. Of course, as a US civilian, I was subject to the legal system, but if I didn’t get caught, then I wasn’t subject to anything. All of us contractors take advantage of that freedom. That’s why the government hires us; we will break the law if need be.

Francesca knocked a third time and rang the doorbell. No answer. I came out from behind the bushes and began looking in windows. Nothing out of the ordinary. A very clean home, like the housekeeper had been there recently. Almost like they were about to sell it. I wound around the side of the house, still looking inside. A window on the east side was open.

“I got a window open over here,” I said into my microphone. It was wide enough for someone to scramble out. Or in. I surveyed the yard behind me, moving down the hill. Nothing.

I ran back around to the front of the house. Didn’t see Francesca. I tensed up and said her name just above a whisper. “
Francesca
.” And again. “
Francesca
.”

“
Fran
,” I said. I wasn’t about to expend any more energy on all fifty syllables of her entire name. “Fran,” a little louder. I stepped onto the shining oak hardwoods; there were dog scratches evident where the sun hit the floor just right. I hoped there weren’t any pit bulls headed down the stairs. A huge painting of Pike Place Market in the snow hung above the fireplace.

I listened closely. The floor creaked above. I raised my gun. Moved silently to the bottom of the stairs, then came around fast.

Francesca was standing at the top. Her gun holstered. “All clear,” she said.

We finished our circle around the block. I turned to another channel on the radio and reported to Ted that all was good and we were headed back.

When we returned, Dr. Wilhelm Sebastian was sitting on the couch next to his wife. He was a good-looking guy, but he did his best to hide it. He should have shot his tailor in the foot. His pants were hemmed six inches too high. Scrawny white shins were staring back at me. He had suspenders on, too. I didn’t even know you could buy those anymore. He looked way younger than I thought he’d be. Not even forty. Curly brown hair, only a few grays sneaking out near the ears.

He stood. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, with a Dutch accent.

“All mine.” He shook my hand with the presence and calm of a man who sits in a rocking chair, smokes a pipe, and listens to Coltrane every night after work. Wiser than his years. He looked at me like he knew that, too, like he could dance circles around my mind. Like I was just a little peon in his world.

He gestured toward his wife, and she stood and shook my hand. She was taller than him. Prim and proper, long skirt with a blouse. Hair in a bun. Angular face, very little makeup. She looked smart. I didn’t think Dr. Sebastian would marry someone with a low IQ. I shook her hand and we locked eyes. Then she turned to her two four-year-old boys who were fighting over a toy fire truck. “Come introduce yourself to Mr. Knox, boys,” she said.

Ignoring her, they kept pulling at the truck. That turned out to be a big mistake.

“Boys!” she snapped, and I think it startled all of us. This woman had a temper. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Leave the truck alone and get your butts over here! Introduce yourselves to Mr. Knox.” They stopped in their tracks and headed my way.

I shook their hands. As they walked away, Luan said, “Go to your rooms,” and popped them both on the side of the head in a not-so-nice way. Both boys immediately broke into cries as they started up the stairs, and I didn’t blame them. The woman had a mean streak. Dr. Sebastian didn’t appear to like it, but he didn’t say anything.

The local news was on, covering the budding protests. Seeing the news on television really was like stepping back into reality. I’d avoided it all for so long.

We watched some of the protesters driving in. The media was guessing two thousand people so far. They showed video of different groups, signs in their hands, shouting. From what I could tell, the majority was the religious type, and though they’re not supposed to be violent, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was real trouble in some of those eyes. In twenty-four hours, we’d be driving right through them and know for ourselves. I had the feeling we shouldn’t let the doctor go, let alone speak, no matter how much he insisted.

Ted nodded at me, and I said to the doctor, “It’s time. Let’s move you guys.”

We’d already loaded up their bags, and we led them out quickly to the open doors of the Suburban. I rode shotgun and Ted drove. Francesca and our other guy, Will Dervitz, followed us in the doctor’s Porsche Cayenne. We rode south toward downtown. Very few words were spoken.

As we drove along Elliott Bay, I stared off to the right over the water. A cruise ship was leaving the port, probably on its way to Alaska. Further down, a ferry was creeping out of the haze, bringing people from one of the islands that I couldn’t see today. Seattle is funny like that. Once you get a clear day, you can see the lush green of Bainbridge Island across the bay, and you can see the majestic Mt. Rainier—covered in snow—rising up into the clouds to the south like a bridge to the heavens, and you can see the sharp peaks of the Olympic Mountains not too far away in the northwest. And you know you are in one of the most beautiful cities on earth.

Makes even a man like me want to believe there’s a higher power. But most of the time, it’s all hidden by the thick fog and low-flying clouds that get trapped in between the mountains, and you just kind of know that it’s all out there. It’s like having insider’s knowledge of how lucky you are to be there. You know you’ll see it all again one day soon.

We moved left onto Denny Way, into the depths of the Emerald City. I scanned for trouble, searching through the sea of people that all seemed to dress in gray, the color that most captures what Seattle is all about. Seattle camo, they call it. As we came to a stoplight, I hit Ted’s leg and pointed. “Two o’clock.” He looked.