False Witness (38 page)

“There was one problem,” Snead continued. “The algorithm sent to Shealy was itself encoded. Shealy was supposed to receive the key from one of Kumari's friends, but the key never came. That's why, about a year and a half ago, the man you know as David Hoffman asked me to help broker a deal with a handful of authentic Internet security companies. But I couldn't get that deal done because Hoffman wasn't willing to show them even the encoded algorithm until they paid his asking price. Those companies weren't about to pay until they could be assured that they could decode the algorithm and it would work.”

Snead lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. “After those talks broke down, Hoffman said he would keep working on decoding the formula and would contact me when he had solved it. The next time he popped up was when he strolled into our legal aid clinic on that repossession lawsuit. Far as I know, he still doesn't have the algorithm decoded.”

Isaiah looked skeptical. “I still don't understand why you kept your prior representation of Hoffman a secret.”

“The client asked me to,” Snead responded. “He had his reasons, which must remain confidential. And I chose to abide by his wishes.”

64

The night before, just prior to telling his wife good-bye, David Hoffman had slipped a note to Stacie with the designated spot for tonight's meeting. Every night it was someplace different. They limited meetings to an hour or less. No shows of affection. They arrived at different times and left at different times. They had precise procedures to follow prior to the meeting to ensure they weren't being followed.

They lived at different addresses and, technically, in different cities. Since the day David had spotted the triad member in Fulton County court a few weeks earlier, he and Stacie had lived separate lives, meeting only when they knew they hadn't been followed.

Despite these precautions, David worried that they weren't being careful enough. Stacie continued to work at the same day job she had landed nearly eighteen months ago when she and David decided to sell the encrypted algorithm. David had called in a few favors from his prior life, resulting in a new ID for Stacie's job application, complete with a clean Social Security number and Georgia driver's license. She was Tricia Martsen at work and Stacie Hoffman the rest of the time.

For strategic reasons, Stacie couldn't change jobs. But for the sake of caution, she had applied for and received a transfer of location immediately after David had been spotted in court.

Stacie was quick to point out that her change in appearance made her less vulnerable than David. When they entered the witness protection program, David had steadfastly refused plastic surgery. “You can't improve on perfection,” he had said. But the real reason was deeper. The feds had already confiscated his identity, but he would at least keep his own face—flaws and all—thank you very much.

Making the best of the situation, Stacie embraced it as part of the benefit of the bargain—a government-funded chance to fix a few facial features that she found less than perfect. Rhinoplasty to narrow the bridge of her nose, collagen injections for her lips, and a slight lift of the eyelids to make the eyes look bigger. She had turned plenty of heads before, in David's opinion, and he worried that with the plastic surgery she might attract too much attention.

But all of that took place before their trip to India. Before they had gone to visit Kumari's church in search of the key to the algorithm. When they arrived, they learned that his pastor and some other church members had been kidnapped and brutally tortured, their houses burned to the ground.

While there, Stacie fell in love with the remaining church members who rebuilt the building and especially with the Dalit children who clung to Stacie at the Christian school. That week in Mangalore had changed Stacie in ways David had never anticipated. She came back determined to decode and sell the algorithm so they could keep David's pledge to Professor Kumari. And to do so, she was now content to hide those near-perfect features behind thick black glasses, a pale complexion, and a stringy auburn wig.

Tonight, they were scheduled to meet at the Holiday Inn Express near the Gwinnett Place Mall in Duluth, Georgia, about forty minutes northeast of the city. Some nights they met at a restaurant, others a coffee shop or a mall or a theme park. But, to David's great chagrin, even on nights like tonight, when the meeting took place in a hotel, there was no chance of being intimate with his own wife.

He arrived a few minutes early, walked through the hotel lobby as if he were a guest, and found a seat in a white plastic lounge chair next to the small rectangular indoor pool. There were three young kids doing cannonballs, even though the sign said No Jumping.

Stacie walked through the doors just as the mom came and herded the kids out of the pool. Stacie found a seat next to David and greeted him with the formal handshake of a business associate.

“What's with the emergency meeting?” she asked.

David sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. “Jamie Brock, one of the law students helping on our case, was kidnapped earlier today. Walter called.”

“Kidnapped?”

“She was last seen at the law school about five hours ago. She was under federal protection, but they think some triad members staged a power outage at the law school and nabbed her in one of the dark stairwells.”

David watched the concern flash in Stacie's eyes. This would undoubtedly rekindle the raw emotions of her own experience. “I haven't heard anything on the news,” she said.

“According to Walter, the feds are trying to keep it under wraps. They talked to Walter and a few law students and swore them all to secrecy. The feds think the mob is trying to use Jamie to get at us. They asked Walter if the triad had contacted him or me.”

“How could they contact you?”

“They can't. They didn't. And they haven't contacted Walter yet, either.”

Stacie thought about this for a minute and David gave her time to process the implications. In the last few hours, he had considered these developments from every possible angle. He knew it was time for Plan B, though he also knew that Stacie would vehemently resist the idea. She had never liked that plan—a high-risk attempt to nail the triad's leaders and gain protection in the process. Too little margin for error. Too much depended on their ability to dupe some very smart and ruthless men.

But what choice did they have? Walter Snead had talked them into staying in the area while he tried to negotiate a protection deal with the government that didn't require turning over the algorithm. They had concocted Plan B as an emergency measure if his efforts failed. That's where they were now. His efforts had proved futile. And Jamie Brock's life was on the line.

“I hate this algorithm,” Stacie said.

David knew what she meant. The algorithm was knowledge. Knowledge was power. And power always came with a price. “We didn't ask for this, Stacie. But we can't just run away.”

“There's got to be a better way than Plan B,” Stacie said, reading David's mind. “Plan B plays right into their hands. They're trying to smoke us out.” She sighed, and David could tell she was fighting back tears. “I'm so tired of all the double-crossing and deception.”

David leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He blew out a deep breath and looked straight ahead as he talked, not wanting to read the look on Stacie's face. It was time to mention something he had never talked about before, not even with Stacie.

“Four years ago, hon, when I was frantic to rescue you, I said a couple of desperate prayers. You know, ‘God, I'll do anything you want if you just get Jessica out of this alive.' No qualifications. And I meant it. I would have done
anything
just to wrap my arms around you one more time. But after your rescue, I really didn't think much about it again until I got the call from Snead today.”

David turned and looked at Stacie in time to see her eyes moisten. “When Snead called, I thought about how Professor Kumari risked his life for us—for people he didn't even know. And I had this strange feeling—not really a voice or anything, but just a feeling—that maybe God was somehow saying this is the thing he wants me to do now. Take a risk for Jamie Brock the same way Kumari did for us.”

“I know we can't just leave Jamie hanging out there,” Stacie said. “But I wish there was some other way.” She hesitated as if unsure whether she should admit what really worried her. “I don't want to lose
you
.”

“You won't,” David said immediately, trying to muster a little false bravado. “This plan is foolproof. I mean, look who designed it.”

Unsmiling, she took his hand and gave him a look that said she would see this through to the bitter end. David might talk a good game on the surface, but in reality he drew his strength from her. She had always been the rock in their relationship. And after her spiritual rebirth in India, even more so. Once she prayed about something and committed, all the demons in hell couldn't stop her.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

“Terrified.”

“Me too.”

He brushed her cheek with his index finger. The tears pooled in her eyes as she fought to hold them back. He leaned in to gently kiss her on the forehead.

“Can we get a room?” she asked, looking down. “We need to spend some time together.”

He nodded and worked hard to hold his own emotions in check. This was not supposed to be the way it all went down.

65

Jamie knew how to focus on the task at hand. Olympic caliber—that's what the newspapers articles had called her. You didn't become Olympic caliber without intense mental focus, an iron will, and the ability to endure pain.

She would need all three.

She rode in silence, staring at the ceiling, forcing herself to concentrate on the psychology of the hostage situation rather than how she got here in the first place. She didn't know how long they had been driving or how far they still had to go. The back of the truck was like an oven—her skin filmy with sweat, her mouth parched as the desert. She felt weak all over.

Had they drugged her?

She needed to get her bearings, and she had to know how far she could push the one man guarding her. She wanted to ride along in silence, but she wouldn't exactly be bonding with her captors that way.

“I'm thirsty,” she said.

“You'll have to wait.” He spoke without an accent—a flat, monotone voice. He was obviously trying to convey a total lack of emotion.

“How long?”

“A few more hours.”

“How long have we been going already?”

“I can't say.”

“I don't think I can wait a few more hours.”

This time her captor didn't respond. He just stared at her through his stocking cap, freaking her out.

“Where are we going?”

Silence.

“What do you want from me?”

“You'll find out soon enough.”

“If it's the algorithm, I don't have it.”

Again, he didn't respond, and she took that as a good sign. He wasn't arguing. He didn't seem to be getting angry. She would push a little more. She wanted to see outside the truck. She needed to know where they were taking her. Was it day or evening? How many others were involved?

Even as she planned, doubts and anxieties attacked her, eating at her self-confidence like termites. She had no weapons. They had firepower and training, outnumbering her at least two to one. Not to mention the thick canvas straps holding her down.

“I have to pee,” she said, swallowing her pride. It wasn't true, but if they stopped the truck and let her out, she could at least pick up some useful information.

“Hold it.”

“You're kidding, right?”

His refusal to answer gave Jamie a strange sense of empowerment. She was having the last word, not him. He was probably low man on the totem pole, and his intimidation factor had gone down a notch or two. Even the creepy effect that came from the way the nylon stocking mashed in his face was a little less terrifying.

“I'm not kidding about this,” she said. “I've really got to go.”

This time he moved. He walked deliberately toward her and stood over her for a moment, swaying with the motion of the truck. The way he looked at her, leered at her, even with the stocking shielding his eyes, made her skin crawl. She shuddered and turned her head to the side.

He reached down and grabbed her chin with a gloved hand, turning her head toward him. He squeezed with strong fingers. Hovering over her, he let his eyes rove up and down her body. Then he locked back onto her eyes, destroying her sense of empowerment, the tiny victories she had just awarded herself.

“Shut up,” he said, “or I've got ways to shut you up.”

He stayed frozen there for a long second, his nylon mask nearly touching her face. He smelled of sweat and stale food.

After a few seconds, he let her go and walked slowly back to his spot near the side of the truck. He grabbed a handle and kept his eyes glued on her. He was volatile. Insecure. Maybe predatory. Now she knew he meant business.

She tried to calm her racing heart and summon another dose of courage. It would be easier to just cower in silence, but she couldn't allow herself to do that. This time, she would be more careful.

“Look,” she said, “I'm not trying to make you angry. I'm just telling you—I've really got to go.”

“Shut up.”

The fear mixed with anger and frustration. She felt vulnerable and violated, but also just plain mad. What kind of coward treated another human being this way? If she had half a chance—her Kimber, a knife, a fistfight,
anything
! She would claw his eyes out if she could get her fingers loose and within reach.

That's when it hit her. It was probably a delusional thought, birthed by terror and desperation. But at the moment it seemed like she had no other choice. She asked to go. He refused. She told him she
really
needed to go. He refused.