The Mayan Apocalypse (16 page)

L
isa spent the time at the airport and in the air thinking through her approach. The cramped seating on the airbus jet made her wish for the comfy leather seats she enjoyed on Andrew Morgan's private jet. Fortunately, it was a short flight.

Once on the ground, she rented a small sedan, drove to the Morgan Natural Energy building in downtown Oklahoma City, and circled the block several times. There were two main entrances to the underground parking. One was marked for the public, and the other had no signage but a lift-arm barricade. She hoped it was the private entrance used by upper management. Six more trips around the block, and she found an open parking space next to the curb that afforded an unobstructed view of the entrance.

It was all a gamble. She had no way of knowing if Morgan was in the building or elsewhere. She didn't even know if he was in the city. Nonetheless, her gut said this was the way to go. She had depended on her reporter's intuition many times, and it had often paid off. Of course, it had let her down a few times as well.

She pulled a protein bar from her purse and took a bite. It was nearing five in the evening. Hopefully, Morgan kept banker hours.

At 5:30, a black limo pulled from the private parking area and onto the street. Lisa hesitated. The windows were tinted. How could she know if it was Morgan in the back? Then again, how many execs rode in limos? For all she knew, they all did.

Lisa started the rental and pulled from the curb. She allowed two cars to pull in front of her. Th at was how they trailed people in the
movies and on television. If it was good enough for Hollywood, it was good enough for her.

A glance in the mirror showed another limo behind her. Lisa wasn't prone to swearing, but she decided that if she were, this would be a good place for expletives.

Now what? Am I following him, or is he following me?

She took another look at the trailing limo. A Crown Vic, just a large sedan. The vehicle in front of her was a stretch limo. CEO quality. She decided to stick with it.

The car moved through the sluggish streets until it reached the 66. Then it headed north on the highway. Lisa kept a discreet distance, often driving in a different lane. She found the chauffeur's manner of driving interesting. He often changed speeds, switched lanes, and kept plenty of room between him and any vehicle in front of him. She guessed he had been trained in evasive driving. He might also be trying to determine if someone was following them. It seemed a tad paranoid, but since she was tailing them, she had to let the matter go.

She dropped back another car length.

So far, so good. Unfortunately, this was the easy part. She worried about what happened once the limo left busy freeways and surface streets behind.

She didn't have to wait long. The limo pulled from the freeway and continued north on a wide, well-maintained road. Several cars followed in its wake, as well as a produce van. Lisa stayed in the shadow of the delivery van. It blocked her view, but that also meant it blocked the chauffeur's line of sight.

One by one, the traffic between her and the limo peeled off onto side streets. Fortunately the van remained between them.

The taillights of the delivery van came on, glowing red in the dimming light. Lisa had to hit the brakes to prevent ramming the large truck. That would put an end to her plan.

A second later, she saw why the truck slowed: The limo was pulling into a long driveway leading to a beautiful home. “Must be nice.”
Lisa thought of her large apartment and fought off the wave of envy that threatened to drown her.

A moment later, the truck picked up speed, and Lisa followed past the house. She took in as much as she could through the corner of her eye. She saw a professional landscape behind a wroughtiron gate. No one stood by the gate, so she assumed it opened automatically, probably activated by a remote.

Using her rearview mirror, she watched the limo disappear behind the wall that separated the property from the street.

She drove another mile, then turned around, slowly returning the way she came. In the distance, she saw the limo pull back on the street.

“Oh, no. He's leaving again.”
It's only been a few minutes.
Maybe he just had to pick up something. There hadn't been enough time for him to even change clothes. Unless…

Unless he didn't own the limo. Perhaps the company hired a service. If she were lucky, the driver just dropped Morgan off. If it was Morgan. It was possible that she had followed the wrong guy.

It was time to be sneaky.

Lisa parked on a side street and walked the remaining distance to the house she hoped belonged to Andrew Morgan.

Jasper Kinkade pulled from the freeway and made his way along the San Antonio residential area just west of the State 87 highway. The GPS app in his iPhone guided him through older streets crowded with apartment buildings. He found the building easily enough—a white stucco structure designed to look like an old Spanish villa. Its walls wore dirt, showed wear, and the landscape needed attention. Older, cheaper cars lined the street and filled the small parking lot. Jaz had no doubt this was a low-rent district.

He tapped the icon that activated his phone and placed a call.

“Yep?” The voice was young and male.

“Still at it?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time. Guy went quiet for a few hours. My guess is he was grabbing some Zs. Traffic shows he'd been at it all night and most of today.”

“But he's back?”

“Straight up. He's pounding keys as we speak. He's changed the routing several times, but I got the runt nailed. He can chart a new course every five minutes if he wants, but I'll be breathing down his neck.”

“Is he still lifting info?” Jaz stared at the apartment building. A young girl sat on the walkway playing jacks. It made him smile. Nothing in the world cuter than a five-year-old girl.

“Oh yeah. He's positively klepto. You want me to shut him down?”

“No. Not yet. Just keep monitoring him. Give me a call if he drops off.”

“Will do.”

Jaz rang off and removed a small pair of binoculars from their case. One of the advantages of flying charter was his ability to bring equipment with fewer questions. Too much electronics tended to draw the attention of the Transportation Security Administration.

He looked in each window but saw nothing of interest. He settled in, preparing for a few hours of doing nothing…when his cell phone sounded. It was the young Internet security guy he had just spoken to.

“He's gone offline.”

Jaz thought for a moment. “Maybe he's in the head.”

“Nah. You don't go offline for that. He's signed off.”

I got here just in time.
“Thanks.”

“I've got something else for you. I recognize this guy.”

“What? How can you recognize someone over the Internet?”

Jaz heard laughter. “We hackers are an arrogant bunch. Some can't resist putting little touches in that reveal their identity. The guy behind the keyboard goes by the name Necco.”

“Like the candy?”

“Exactly. Charming, isn't it? I met him at a black-hat hacker's conference. The guy has no life.”

“Is he tall, super thin, with ratty hair?”

“Yeah. How do you know that?”

“Gotta go.” Jaz hung up and watched Necco walk from the building. Next to him was a twentysomething girl with sad eyes and Goth makeup.

He wished Necco had been alone.

The gate was close to ten feet tall with vertical members too narrow to pass through—even for a person Lisa's size. Each wrought-iron pole on the gate stood upright and ended in a spear-shaped design that looked deadly.

A short distance from the gate was an intercom system. She could see a camera lens behind a protective plastic pane. Another camera was mounted to the pilaster, where the security wall met the fence. Perfect. She pressed the T
ALK
button and waited.

“Yes?” The voice was less tinny than she expected. Before she could respond, she heard, “I don't believe it.”

Bingo.

“Mr. Morgan, I presume.” The wind picked up and mussed her hair. It was cold, and she shivered. She couldn't have scripted it better. “I was hoping I could talk to you.” She wrapped her arms around herself, fending off the cool breeze.

“There's a reason I didn't respond to your calls.”

More wind. The large security camera at the top of the wall moved from side to side. She guessed he was scanning for her car, which she hoped he would not be able to see.

“How did you get here?”

“I promise not to be so abrasive this time. I want…I want to apologize. And then, if it's all right with you, we can chat for a while.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I'm being evasive.”

“I can see that.”

The camera moved.

“I'm also being honest, Mr. Morgan. I've come a long way.”

A full thirty seconds of silence passed, and then the gate began to move. She was pretty sure his Southern gentlemanliness wouldn't allow him to leave her standing at his front gate. Still, it had been a gamble, and the last thing she wanted to do was return home and have to explain why her idea failed.

She kept her arms folded, her purse hanging over her left shoulder. Although she knew better, the driveway that led to the front of the mansion seemed the length of a football field. She estimated that it was a third of that. The drive had a gentle slope, making the walk a little more challenging.

As she neared the massive wood door, it swung open. Andrew Morgan looked different. Before, he had been dressed in stylish, casual clothes; now he wore an old pair of jeans, dirty New Balance sports shoes, and a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. His hair was mussed, and a sheen of perspiration covered his face, forming a V-shaped stain over his broad chest. He didn't step outside.

Lisa smiled and looked down at the driveway as she transitioned to a walkway of gray pavers. Her heart stuttered, and she wasn't sure if it was from fear, embarrassment, or…something else.

“Good evening, Mr. Morgan.”

He gave a slight nod, but he didn't smile. “You look cold.”

“The breeze has picked up. It's chilly.”

He stepped aside and motioned for her to enter. As she brushed past him, she could smell the musky-sweet odor of sweat. Her heart picked up speed.

The moment she was in the wide lobby, he closed the door and locked it. She looked up and saw an expensive-looking crystal chandelier over her head. Beneath her feet, marble tile covered the floor. She stepped deeper into the foyer.

“It's very kind of you to see me. I'm sure my presence is a little unexpected.”

Along one white wall hung a dozen or so photos. Family photos: white-water rafting; a teenager playing in a high school basketball game; a trim, beautiful woman in a strapless black evening gown. Fingerprints marred the glass of every photo. Lisa could imagine Morgan touching the photos over and over again. Her stomach clinched into a knot.