Fast and Loose (4 page)

Abner wished he had a companion sitting in the passenger seat. Even a dog would be good. Someone to bounce his thoughts off.

As the Rover continued to eat up the miles, Abner ran one scenario after another through his mind. Should he have mentioned RCHood back at the BOLO Building? Should he have told them right then and there that RC was the only hacker, in his opinion, who could do something like what Bert suspected? Why hadn't he spoken up? It wasn't that he was afraid of RC, even though RC probably already knew what was going on if he was the one responsible. No grass ever grew under RC's feet. If it was RC, then he knew everything there was to know about Bert, and that would lead him to the sisters and the brothers. Would RC expect him to confide in him because he was his mentor? Hell, yes he would!

Abner was so intent on his thoughts, he almost bounced off the ceiling when a slew of fat raindrops hit the windshield. To his troubled mind, they sounded like gunshots. He clicked on the windshield wipers. Then he fumbled around in the glove box to see if Isabelle had left any of her cigarettes behind. His wife didn't smoke much, maybe one cigarette a month, but she always kept a pack somewhere in case she felt the craving for one. He himself had quit smoking years ago, but right now he needed
something
. He didn't know if a cigarette would do the trick or not, but, by God, he'd give it a shot. He needed to calm down. His hand groped inside the glove box.
Aha!
He wondered how old the cigarettes were, how long they'd been in the glove box. Were stale cigarettes worse for you than fresh ones? Like he cared at this point. He fired up a cigarette and almost choked, but that didn't stop him from puffing away. He cracked the window, then opened it farther, not caring if the rain soaked him or not.

To tell or not to tell. If he wanted to, the next time he stopped at a roadside gas station, he could e-mail or send a text to RC to try to feel him out. He could do that. But it was probably not a very good idea. That would let RC know he was losing his cool. No, better to keep quiet. No need to get in touch with any of the guys, because unless he wanted to share his information, his worry, there was no reason to get in touch.

Abner let his mind travel back in time. When was the last time he'd communicated with RC? A while ago, because nothing was coming to mind. Was it before Christmas or after New Year's? A holiday greeting? Off the top of his head, if he had to pick one over the other, he'd go with sometime around New Year's. Had he returned the greeting? Probably, but maybe not. It was coming up to the end of April now. After four months, give or take a week or so, it was not unusual to hear from RC. Or for him to communicate with Abner, which, when he did so, was to ask a question about something or other. They rarely made small talk. “State your business. Time is money,” was the way RC thought, and who was he to test that edict?

Abner let his mind travel farther back in time, to when, at the age of sixteen, he was already hacking into government offices, banks, and anyplace he thought could do him some good. He'd saved up $338 mowing lawns and shoveling snow the year he first heard about a get-together in New Jersey. With the permission of one of the many foster parents he had had, none of whom cared what he did as long as he got As in school, he had hitchhiked to Jersey, found the underground meeting place, and had the time of his life for three straight days. If he slept, it was only an hour or so at a time in some corner, because he didn't want to miss anything. On that trip was when he'd met RC.

Abner tried to bring the man's face into focus, but he couldn't. He was big. Big compared to Abner. Lots of curly hair. Nice smile. Superintelligent. Respectful of the other attendees. Willing to share his knowledge. And out of all the attendees that day, RC had chosen him to mentor. He'd been so grateful, still was. Even though he'd never set eyes on RC from that day to this. All communication was over the Net.

Abner fished around for another cigarette. Funny how puffing on one of the hateful sticks helped him to think more clearly. But he was missing something; something was niggling at his mind. What the hell was it? In frustration, he blew one perfect smoke ring after another and watched out of the corner of his eye as they floated out the window.

Ah . . . he had it, that elusive tidbit of information that didn't mean a thing. Just another little link in the daisy chain of information. Goldie@hotmail had sent a text to all the names in her address book around the end of the year that said RCHood was pissed off that in the movie
The Gambler
, which was coming out, one of the characters used his most famous line, which was, “Screw me over, and I will wipe out your entire bloodline.” He was asking everyone if he should sue and went on to say he was referring to a cyber bloodline. The overwhelming response had been a resounding no. Abner himself had voted no. He had gone to see the movie after that and had been satisfied his vote was right. RC had printed those words long before John Goodman uttered them in the movie, and RC's utterances carried more weight. Especially for people like himself and his cyber buddies.

His cigarette finished, Abner tossed it out the window, knowing he was littering—but then again, he rather thought cigarettes were biodegradable. He fired up another one and puffed. This time he blew a perfect double smoke ring, which floated right out the window.

Abner's thoughts turned toward his wife. He wished there was some way he could call or get in touch with her, but there wasn't. He always felt lost when she was gone. She'd promised never to leave for a job like she had when she'd gone to England and they had almost gotten divorced over the whole mess. Thankfully, they had been able to talk it through and get back on track. This leave of absence was different. The sisters always came first, and he knew and accepted that. A mission took precedence over everything and anything. Isabelle's bottom line when she left was, “You'll see me when you see me. I will think of you every day, and I will miss you. Love you.” Then she'd called over her shoulder, “Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone.”

Abner snorted on a mouthful of smoke. There was trouble, and then there was
trouble
, and he knew in his gut he was looking at the worst kind.

Chapter 3

T
he BOLO Building was quiet now since the others had all left, and it was just Jack and Cyrus holding down the fort. Jack opened the plantation shutters and looked out at the miserable late-afternoon weather. The promised rain, which had held off until now, was a steady downpour that almost obliterated his view of the Bagel Emporium across the street. Did he really want to drive all the way back to the farm in the downpour? Or should he just hunker down and spend the night in the BOLO Building? He looked down at Cyrus and posed the question to the 140-pound shepherd.

“Here's the deal. Either we drive back to the farm, which in this weather will take us well over an hour if we leave now, or we call Mr. Domingo Lopez across the street and order one of his specialty dinners. One bark for going to the farm, two for calling Ding.”

Cyrus barked twice.

Jack laughed. “Okay, that means we need to decide what we want to eat. We can chow down and feel guilty, or we can eat healthy. I vote for chowing down and working out twice as hard tomorrow.”

Cyrus barked once.

Jack pressed in the digits of the Bagel Emporium and placed his order—a double hot roast beef sandwich with coleslaw and cranberry sauce for himself, and a triple order of chicken nuggets and a double order of the vegetable medley, which consisted of carrots, zucchini, and string beans, for Cyrus. For dessert he ordered apple pie for himself and a large pumpkin custard for Cyrus, because pumpkin was good for dogs' stomachs. He was told the food would be delivered in forty-five minutes.

“Time for us to get the files in order, make some notes, and catch the first of the evening news. While I do that, you can tidy up,” Jack said, tongue in cheek.

Cyrus tilted his head to the side, as much as to say, “Get real here.” The shepherd bent down, picked up Dragon, and headed for his favorite spot under the long conference table.

All day, Jack had felt a sense of unease, and he didn't quite know where it was coming from. He frowned as he ticked off possibilities on his fingers. Nothing to do with Nikki—he was okay and understood her absence. The weather? No, rain had been predicted, with the rest of the week to be typical spring weather. The guys? Everyone was okay with Bert's request. And anxious to get on with it. No anxiety there. Charles and Fergus leaving to go back to the farm? No, they had to take care of the dogs, so no concern there. Maggie creating a legend, as they said in clandestine jargon, to explain the reporters' presence in Vegas? Perfect scenario for the reporters, so no problem. Certainly not Harry. Actually, Harry had surprised him by his easy acceptance and the traveling to Vegas. That left Abner. Bingo! Abner's less than enthusiastic response to this new mission. This was right up his geek alley, so to speak, and yet . . . and yet he had acted almost like he didn't want to be part of it.

What's up with that
? he wondered. He thought about calling or texting Abner, but he was already on the road. Maybe later, after he gave it some more thought. Right now, though, his gut was telling him that Abner knew something he hadn't seen fit to confide to the others. Assuming he was right, why was that? Abner had always been an up-front, stand-up guy. He was the last person whose loyalty to the guys and the sisters would come under scrutiny. Until now—because Jack couldn't shake that deer-in-the-headlight look he'd seen on Abner's face. He was glad he hadn't mentioned it to the others, but he was aware that both Maggie and Ted had caught the look on Abner's face. Like him, they hadn't commented on it, and like him, they were probably trying to figure out what, if anything, it meant.

Jack's gut churned. Maggie was like a dog with a bone. Once she got a sniff of something that didn't sit well with her, she went after it full bore. Same with Ted. Espinosa brought up the rear. Young Dennis, if he had noticed Abner's reaction, probably hadn't put it all together. Abner was entrenched long before Dennis became a member, so Dennis wasn't as tuned in to Abner as he himself and the others were. But the kid was intuitive, and Jack knew that he had picked up on something, because his face was an open book. At least to Jack.

Jack knew this all was really going to bother him if he didn't come to some kind of resolution where Abner was concerned. What could he do other than call or text the hacker and reserve some talk time, then come right out and ask point-blank? Or should he contain himself and wait out the three days until he got to Vegas and scheduled some real face time? Another ten minutes of worrying rushed by before Jack made the decision to wait for face time. Face time so he could look into Abner's eyes and read the truth.

Jack came to his decision just as the doorbell rang at the front of the building. Cyrus tossed Dragon in the air and made a beeline for the front door. Jack arrived right on his heels. The slicker-clad delivery boy, one of Ding's sons, held out two shopping bags. Money changed hands, and Jack added a robust tip, which brought a smile to the waterlogged young boy's face. He waited at the door until he saw the boy safely on the other side of the road before he closed and triple locked the massive mahogany door.

“Supper's here, Cyrus.”

* * *

Back in Virginia, Fergus looked at Charles and said, “You sure you don't mind my staying here at Pinewood? It's just that Annie's farmhouse is so big, and there aren't any animals to keep me company. I just rattle around there by myself. I thought I could be of some help if I stayed here.”

“Of course I don't mind. I'm grateful for the company. Lady and the pups adore you. Like you, even with the dogs romping around, I am still alone here. I don't like cooking for just myself, so with you here, at least we'll eat good food, not the fast food we buy on the fly and eat in the car.

“I also suspect you want to discuss Abner's . . . um . . . I don't quite know what to call it. It was just a fleeting expression. For all I know, he could have been having a gas pain that made him wince like he did,” Charles said.

“It was no gas pain,” Fergus said, authority ringing in his voice. “That young man knows something he didn't see fit to share. It might be nothing. Then again, it might be something, something important. He might be troubled over whatever he thinks he knows and how it would reflect on all of us. I believe he is a wonderful young man and loyal to all of us. I think he knows something, and he's trying to sort through it before he mentions whatever it is. Did what I just said make sense, Charles?”

“Of course it made sense. I was just dancing around the whole thing because I think like you do. While I start dinner, I'd like you to either text or call Avery and ask him who the number one geek hacker is. I don't even know if there is such a thing, much less a title to go with it. My gut is telling me that yes, there is such a person and that we need to know who that person is. Male or female.”

“What's for dinner?” Fergus asked as he scrolled down on his cell phone's list for Avery Snowden's number.

“Chicken Marsala with fresh peas from the greenhouse, which you are going out to pick and will shell once you get off the phone with Avery. My special cheesy butter scones and a spring lettuce, tomato, and cucumber salad, the ingredients for which you are also going to fetch from the greenhouse.”

“It went straight to voice mail, Charles. I'm sure he'll call us back,” Fergus said as he donned a yellow slicker hanging on the coatrack by the kitchen door. Charles handed him the vegetable basket, and off he went.

Charles's nimble brain raced as he worked robotically, pounding out the chicken fillets, uncorking the wine, and readying the fry pan to sear the chicken. Scenario after scenario flowed through his brain as he tried to figure out Abner Tookus's mind-set. He liked the young man; they all did. And he had saved the day on many occasions with his uncanny ability to hack into places no one had gone before and to cover his tracks. There was no more valuable asset to the group than Abner Tookus.

Abner had sworn his allegiance to the group, as they all had. He couldn't see the young man tossing that all away and betraying the group. There, he'd given space to the ugly thought rushing through his head.
Betrayal
was such an ugly, ugly word.

Even though he missed Myra, Annie, and his chicks, as he thought of the girls, he was glad they weren't here, because, without a shadow of a doubt, they would have pounced on Abner in the blink of an eye, and that included Isabelle, his wife.

Charles slid the seasoned chicken cutlets into the fry pan and was rewarded with an immediate fragrant sizzle just as Fergus, carrying a basket of vegetables, opened the kitchen door. He was setting them in the sink to be rinsed when the phone rang. Both men looked at each other for a second before Charles clicked the mobile on.

“Good afternoon, Avery. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I'm here at Pinewood with Fergus. We have a question for you. Not sure if you know the answer or if it's outside of your purview. I know in your line of work you are privy to a host of underground activities that I and the girls can't begin to know about. Who is the number one hacker, the go-to guy when you want something done that you don't want anyone else to know about?”

“And you want to know this why?”

Why indeed?
Charles swallowed hard and relayed what had happened at the BOLO Building. “It wasn't my imagination, Avery. Fergus saw the panic on Abner's face. He knows something, but for reasons known only to him, he elected not to share it with the group. He is, as we speak, driving cross-country to Las Vegas. I'd like you and your people to hit the red-eye tonight and get there before him so you can scout around and follow him or see what you can find out before the rest of us get there. So . . . who is the number one person, if you know?”

“Contrary to what you may believe, Charles, I do not know
everything
. I've heard rumors over the years, but I can't be specific or pin anything down for you. Those computer brainiacs are a breed unto themselves. They meet in underground locations, and you could waterboard any one of them, and you'd get no information out of them. I've heard three handles, or cyber names. For whatever good they'll do you. One is RCHood. All indicators place him at the top of the list. There's another one called PIP, which I once heard stood for Pretty in Pink. Oh, yeah, RCHood supposedly stands for ‘Robin Cool Hood.' The third one is TRIPLEM. Someone said it stands for ‘Triple Mister Magic Money.'

“As I understand it, there is no way for someone like you or me to get in touch with any of the three. You have to know someone in their exclusive group, and they pass the word up the daisy chain. And they cost big-time. RCHood, it's said, is seven figures just for a consultation. PIP is six figures, as is TRIPLEM. Is it true? I have no idea. Could be myths the three of them have perpetuated to drive up their prices, but I did hear that they give an absolute
guarantee
if they take on a job.

“Think of it this way, Charles. At last rumor, there were thousands of hackers who belong to the same club or organization, or whatever you want to call it. Let's just assume, for the sake of argument, one of them is on a job and makes a mistake. Oops. All those thousands of hackers in the group swing into action and screw things up so badly, the screwup gets fixed, and no one is the wiser. I personally do not know if that ever happened. It was just a scenario presented to me. A hypothetical of sorts.

“I know a couple of mid-level hackers. I can put the word out if you want to hit on one of the top three. My advice would be to wait till we are all in Vegas and can talk this through. With or without Tookus. That's your call to make, Charles.”

Charles shook his head at what he was hearing as he expertly flipped the cutlets in the fry pan. “I pretty much thought that was the way it would work. I agree, there's no sense in stirring up something right now. Better to wait until we are all together and can hash it out. I don't suppose anyone anywhere has a clue to the identity of the top three.”

“Not a clue. Several years ago, I spoke to a top-notch hacker, and he shared a few things. I asked him if he'd ever met the top three, and he said he
thought
so. I asked him where, and he said at a convention in Pittsburgh. Now, this guy was forty-something years old, a graphic artist by profession, and a good one. He said he had no clue. Nor did the other three guys he put me in touch with. All these guys and a few females care about is what you can do with a keyboard. You could be buck-ass naked, and no one would notice. Or care. So, no, no one knows anything about the top three. And if they do, they won't admit to it.

“For whatever it's worth, Charles, I think Abner Tookus is one of the top three. PIP is a female. That much I know for sure, so that lets her out. Tookus is either TRIPLEM or RCHood. RCHood has been on the scene longer than Tookus, so that's why I think he's TRIPLEM. Meaning RCHood is the top gun.”

“Any suggestions on how we can get in touch with all three of them?” Charles asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fergus holding out a bowl of emerald-green peas. The first of the season. He motioned to a copper pot and mouthed the words, “Steam for two minutes. That's it.”

“Just so you know, Charles, this is not going to be a nickel-and-dime operation. These guys command at least five figures. Sometimes high five or low six figures. Tell me if I'm authorized to pay out that kind of money.”

“Just for information?” Charles said, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“Yes, and it still might not help us reach any of the three. It's a gamble, but I do have to say these people have their own code of ethics, so whatever information they divulge will be as accurate as they want it to be. They won't defraud us. After all, they have their reputations to consider. Like I said, they have their own code of ethics.”