Invasion of Privacy: A Novel Page 29

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “You’re a federal agent working the homicide of a fellow law enforcement officer. You don’t care what time it is. Own it and they won’t blink an eye.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be in the car if you need me.”

  Mary checked that no traffic was coming, then made a U-turn and pulled up to the gate. She rang the buzzer and held Joe’s badge up for the camera. A moment later the gate groaned and rattled open on its track. Mary drove across dirt and gravel toward the office. Two drivers rested on the fenders of their trucks, smoking cigarettes and sharing a flask. Mariachi music blared from a stereo. She saw the Ferrari parked on the opposite side of the yard, next to a Toyota and a Ford pickup. “Guess you were right,” she said.

  “I know my cars.”

  “Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need luck,” said Tank. “You’re the law.”

  Mary climbed out of the car, adjusting her jacket to cover Joe’s gun. A bell above the door tinkled as she entered the office. A Hispanic woman stood behind the counter. She had a pistol on her belt, too, and wanted everyone to see it. “We’re closed. Open again tomorrow at eight.”

  “Emergency. I’d appreciate your cooperation.” Mary badged her. “I’m here to take a look at the vehicle we brought in two days ago. I see you have it out front.”

  “Sorry. Keys are all locked up. Can’t get to them till morning.”

  “What about the keys of the cars those fellas just brought in? What do you do with them?”

  The woman eyed the two key chains on the desk, then shrugged, beaten at her own game. “Do you have the paperwork?”

  Mary leaned in. “You have two Ferraris here?”

  The woman stepped to her computer and tapped the keys for much too long. “Vehicle is registered to?”

  “Harold Stark.”

  “And you are?”

  “Special Agent Mary Grant.”

  The woman ducked her head around the computer. “Same name as that agent who was killed.”

  “No relation.”

  The woman considered this. She was short and solid, with tattoos covering both arms. The largest showed an eagle wrapped in a Mexican flag. She smiled, revealing a gold-capped tooth. “I want to be a police officer myself. I have my app in at APD, Department of Highway Safety.”

  “Good luck.”

  “I shoot competitively. Shouldn’t have a problem there. What’s that you’re carrying?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your weapon…pistol…sidearm. Whatever you feds call it.”

  “It’s a Glock.”

  “Nice. Nine, eleven, or sixteen?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Rounds.”

  Mary looked at her watch. “If you don’t get me the keys to that car, the only number you’ll have to worry about is one, ’cause that’s how many bullets I’m going to fire to get you moving.”

  The attendant bucked to attention. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Miss…”

  “Garza. Yolanda Garza.”

  “Thank you, Miss Garza. If I have the chance, I’ll be sure to put in a good word.”

  Yolanda Garza unlocked a cabinet on the wall behind her. When she turned back, she held a fat rubber car key like the one Mary had seen in Joe’s study earlier. “Here you are, Special Agent Grant,” she said, placing the key on the counter. “I’ll need to see your government identification as well as your driver’s license.”

  Mary patted her jacket and frowned. Earlier she’d forgotten to bring Joe’s picture. This was a more serious offense. “In my purse. Be right back.”

  “Leave the key.”

  Mary set the key to the LaFerrari on the counter. “There you are. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Garza was already back at the computer, eyes squinting as she scrolled down a page. “Take your time. I’ve got to call your boss first.”

  Mary paused at the door. “Pardon me?”

  “This isn’t the first time you guys have left a vehicle with us. I can’t release nothing until I speak with the SAC. Company policy. Your company.”

  “You’re taking your life into your hands,” said Mary, doing a bad job of trying to sound funny. “Don Bennett doesn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night.”

  “Then you shouldn’t show up so late.”

  Mary shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  The tow-truck drivers were still perched on their fenders, smoking cigarettes. Seeing Mary, they made a halfhearted attempt to hide their flask. Mary gave them a stern look, all the while forcing herself to walk, not run.

  “We need to leave,” she said, sliding behind the wheel. “She’s calling Don Bennett. She needs his permission to release the vehicle.”

  “Did you get it?”

  Mary opened her fist. “I switched keys when she wasn’t looking.”

  “I’m beginning to think you missed your calling.”

  “Let’s go before she talks to Bennett. The woman’s packing a piece the size of a bazooka.”

  She put the car in gear and drove toward the exit, rolling over the pressure sensors that activated the gate. With a shudder, it began to roll on its track. Faster, she thought.

  “Let’s see if we were right.”

  Mary gave him the key. He pressed his thumb against the translucent dome in the key’s center. Nothing happened.

  “Try it again.”

  He thumbed the dome, harder this time. Still nothing. “You got any other ideas?”

  “Give it to me.” Mary grabbed the key and rammed her thumb against the dome. She felt something give. The flash drive shot out of the bottom of the key. “Woman’s touch.”

  “Jesus. You were right.”

  “You didn’t believe me?”

  “Honestly? No.” Tank twisted in his seat, an eye on the office door. “Ah, shit.”

  “What?”

  “You weren’t kidding about that gun.”

  A siren wailed. The gate stopped dead in its tracks. In the rearview mirror, Mary saw Yolanda Garza burst out of the office door, gun drawn. The woman was shouting something to the truck drivers, who launched themselves off the fenders and ran to their cabs. Both emerged holding handguns. There was a ping of metal and simultaneously a gunshot. Then more.

  The side window shattered. A tire exploded. The car listed to port. Mary ducked. “We’re at the fucking O.K. Corral.”

  “Get out of the car,” shouted Garza. “Open your doors.”

  Mary complied.

  Tank reached across and yanked it shut. “I am not going to be captured by Evelyn Ness over there.”

  “What are you going to do, shoot her? Get out of the car, Tank. It’s over. We’re done.”

  Tank stripped the gun from her holster. “The hell you say. It’s not even close to over.”

  “Tank!”

  “Listen to me. Do as she says. Get out of the car. Look nice and peaceful. Remember you’re a mom, not an FBI agent. And on the count of three hit the ground.”

  “You aren’t going to shoot anyone. I won’t allow it.”

  “Eagle Scout’s word of honor.”

  “But we can’t go anywhere. The front tire is flat. The car is ruined.”

  “This car is ruined.” Tank snatched the Ferrari key from her hand. “This one isn’t.”

  “But—”

  “You feel like spending the next five to ten in jail? You used up your hall pass earlier today, and that was before we killed McNair. I may have pulled the trigger, but you’re my accomplice.”

  “But he was going to kill me.”

  “That’s a lot of buts hanging out there in the wind.”

  “Dammit,” said Mary.

  “At least let me try to get us out of here.”

  Mary looked at Garza standing thirty feet away, gun aimed at her, and at the tow-truck drivers, positioned more prudently next to their vehicles. Her disdain for Mason returned, and with it
her anger. If she stopped now, if she stopped before exhausting her every opportunity, she would have let them win. Ian Prince and Edward Mason and Fergus Keefe. Joe would be remembered as inept, or even a failure. Worse, his death would go unavenged.

  “No shooting anyone,” she repeated.

  “Yes, ma’am. Now open the door. And remember—”

  “On three, hit the ground.”

  Tank nodded. “Trust me.”

  Mary threw her legs from the car and stepped out. Without prompting, she raised her hands. It came to her that this was the third time in twenty-four hours that she’d had a gun pointed at her.

  “Stay there,” said Garza. Then she called to the drivers. “Ray, there’s a pair of cuffs in my desk. Go get ’em and bring ’em to me.”

  “One…,” said Tank.

  “Open your jacket so I can see your weapon,” said Garza. “Nice and slow. And tell your partner to get out, too.”

  “Two.”

  Garza stepped closer, eyes narrowed, wary. Mary unbuttoned her blazer and opened it wide. “Tank, get out, please,” she said.

  “Three.”

  Mary threw herself to the ground. From the corners of her eyes she caught Tank jumping from the car, pistol in hand. He wasn’t aiming at Garza or at the drivers. He was pointing the gun at a cylindrical iron tank near the front gate. She spotted a diamond-shaped sticker on it and the word flammable, but only for a second. Then there was a gunshot and the tank exploded.

  Mary dug her face into the dirt as the blast wave passed over her, the heat intense but fleeting. She peeked from beneath her arm and saw Tank running to the Ferrari. In front of her, Garza lay prone on the ground, unmoving. The tow-truck drivers had disappeared altogether. A fireball rose from the tank into the night sky like a giant roman candle.

  She heard the Ferrari start. It was a sound like no other, a low-pitched, powerful rumble that resonated in her belly; the car was as much animal as machine. She pushed herself to her feet as Tank pulled up next to her.

  He opened her door. “Get in.”

  “Is she…” Mary pointed at Garza.

  “Unconscious.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Dammit, Mary, get in the car.”

  The car was so low to the ground that she fell into the seat. The interior was like nothing she’d ever seen. Dials and gauges and lights glowed electric shades of green and yellow.

  The ringing of the explosion faded and she heard a siren.

  “Police,” said Tank, easing the car toward the exit. “Hold on.”

  The gate lay in the center of the street, a mangled, twisted sheet of metal. To their right, far away, a police car was speeding toward them, strobes flashing. To her horror, a second patrol car followed on its tail. “Go the other way,” she said.

  Tank looked to his left, where another squad car was approaching. “Must be a doughnut shop around here.”

  “Which way, then?”

  “I’m thinking north.”

  “And then?”

  “One step at a time.” He pulled into the street and steered gingerly around the gate. The police cars were closing fast, yet he made no further move. They sat stationary in the middle of the street, lights extinguished, nose pointed directly at the sidewalk and the scrub beyond.

  “Hold on to the armrest.”

  Mary wrapped her fingers around the leather grip. The lights from the police cars shone into the cabin, forcing her to look away.

  Tank punched the gas, turning the car to the left and driving north. There was a squeal of rubber, an ungodly roar. Mary’s head hit the seatback. Her fingers tightened on the grip. The road disappeared beneath the car, the lines a blur. She’d never accelerated so rapidly in her life. It wasn’t a car; it was a rocket ship.

  They passed the oncoming police car six seconds later, the speedometer reading 130 miles per hour. The headlights of the trailing cars dimmed. Tank ran a red and continued another few blocks, then braked and turned right before giving another burst of acceleration.

  Two minutes later they were driving slowly through a quiet, sleeping neighborhood. Tank had one hand on the wheel and was slumped against the door.

  “Are you all right?” Mary asked.

  Tank touched his side and grimaced. “No, ma’am.”

  “What is it?” said Mary. “What’s wrong?”

  He held up a bloody hand. “I think I’ve been shot.”

  79

  Southwest Airlines Flight 79 touched down at Las Vegas McCarran International Airport at 2:15 a.m. local time. Jessie and Garrett were first off the plane. They ran through the terminal and down the escalator, Jessie braking by an ATM at the exit and withdrawing her maximum daily limit of $800.

  “Where did you get so much money?” asked Garrett.

  Jessie stuffed the bills into her jeans. “Men are kind of sick. That’s all I’m going to say.”

  Garrett held the phone to his ear. “There’s a voicemail from your mother. She says that we need to go to the police station. We can’t stay at DEF CON because we need to get away from the people who hurt your dad.”

  “She’s just trying to scare us.”

  “I thought that an informant shot him.” Garrett held out the phone. “You’d better listen.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Jess…”

  “Garrett, I came here to get Rudeboy to help figure out who hacked into my mom’s phone. What part of that did you miss?”

  “The part that says we might be in danger.”

  “You sure don’t look like a wuss, Abercrombie.”

  “What?” protested Garrett. “Who’s Abercrombie?”

  Jessie walked outside and made her way to the head of the taxi line. “So you told your parents?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Garrett. “My parents would have called out the National Guard by now if I wasn’t home. My mom waits up by the door to make sure I walk in before midnight. I’m not joking. By the door. I may be disobedient, but I’m not cruel.” Garrett caught himself. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Jessie had never thought of herself as cruel. “My mom’s just freaking out because I didn’t tell her where I’ve gone. Once we get to DEF CON, if you see any guys in dark shirts and sunglasses looking at us strangely, let me know and we’ll get out of there.”

  Garrett cued up the voicemail. “Just listen to her.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “It’s your mother. She loves you.”

  Jessie grabbed the phone out of his hand and deleted the message. “My mom thinks I’m a freak. She can’t stand that I don’t wear tight blue jeans or put on makeup or straighten my hair and that I hate Taylor Swift and that I’m fat and I don’t like to run or go to the gym. Okay? She may care for me. And yes, I know that she’s worried. But she doesn’t love me. Not really. My dad loved me. That’s why I’m here. You want to go, go. I’m staying.” She climbed into a minivan with an advertisement for a strip club on top. “What are you looking at?” she said.

  “Nothing…I mean…oh, forget it.” Garrett climbed in and closed the door. “I’m staying.”

  “Take us to the Rio,” said Jessie.

  “DEF CON, right?” said the driver, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. “You guys are getting younger each year. Pretty soon I’ll be driving babies out there.”

  “Hey, buddy,” said Jessie, “just drive.”

  “Punk.”

  They turned onto Las Vegas Boulevard and drove past the Mandalay Bay, the Mirage, the Bellagio, temples of neon. The lights reminded her of Bangkok, the night markets, the hotels lining the Chao Phraya River. The two cities were nothing alike, really. Maybe it was just being in another city where it was hot all day and all night, with so many tall buildings. All she knew was that it made her sad. Her dad had been alive in Bangkok. Mouse hadn’t been sick yet. And she hadn’t made her mom miss her dad’s last message.

  “You okay?” asked Garrett, his hand touching her ar
m.

  Jessie wiped at her cheek. “Be quiet.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I didn’t mean it. I’m just tired.”

  “Me, too.”

  Jessie leaned her head against Garrett’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  Jessie wanted to say for a thousand things, but the words tripped all over each other. “Just thanks.”

  The cab turned onto Flamingo Road and Jessie saw the hotel at the end of the block, towering before them like a brightly lit birthday cake. It was big and pretty, but it didn’t look as glitzy as the others. That figured. Hackers and computer nerds weren’t glitzy either. They were just smarter.

  Another turn and the cab pulled beneath the hotel’s porte cochere. Jessie paid the fare and added a dollar for a tip, getting out before the driver could call her a punk again. She led the way into a lobby the size of a football field and spotted the placards for DEF CON at the entry to the East Corridor.

  “This is it.” Excited, she jogged the length of the hall. A blue banner with the words Capture the Flag hung above the entrance to the Miranda Ballroom. Jessie dialed the number for Linus’s former teammate and announced their arrival. A few minutes later a short, skinny guy with a few days’ stubble and messy hair came out of the ballroom.

  “You Jesse?” he said, looking at Garrett.

  “Actually, I’m Garrett. She’s Jessie.”

  Max shifted his gaze in her direction. “You’re Jessie?”

  “Didn’t Linus tell you I was a girl?”

  “Guess he forgot that part. He just said you were smart as a whip and we’d be idiots not to let you join our team.”

  “Guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

  He stuck out a bony hand. “Max. Good to have you aboard. Here, put on your shirt.” Max thrust an orange, yellow, and black T-shirt at her. “Welcome to the Ninjaneers. And here’s your ID. Wear it around your neck at all times when you’re on the playing floor.”

  Jessie pulled on her T-shirt and strung the ID over her head. Her sadness and anxiety fled. She was at DEF CON. She was a Ninjaneer, and she was about to play Capture the Flag against Rudeboy. It was pretty much the coolest moment of her life.

  “What about Garrett?” she asked. “He’s pretty good with code, too.”