[Steven Lyle Jordan]

2: California Dreamin’

We spent breakfast discussing the things Mel needed to do to give me a head start on getting these guys. Knowing how badly Mel wanted to bolt on BM, now that he knew how underhanded the whole Merc thing had turned out to be, and getting him to refrain from doing the whole “Take this job and shove it!” bit, at least for a few days, was tough. But eventually he agreed that he’d go back to work and lay low for a few days, feeding me anything new from his home e-mail account, until it was time to act.

I just wished I knew when that time was going to be.

Finally, it was time for Mel’s flight back to Baltimore. We saw him off at the terminal, and once he was out of sight, we headed for the parking lot and Gail’s car. Gail and I walked silently, Gail’s hand around my arm. Since the other night, she was being a bit more touchy-feely than usual… but I could hardly blame her. And besides: It was Gail. Who wouldn’t want a creature like this hanging off of you? You should’ve seen the looks we were getting, especially from other guys who looked like they just wanted to sit down and have a cry because they weren’t me right now. I wish I could’ve seen their looks clearer. Unfortunately, my eyes were finally starting to glaze over after being up all night, and I had to let Gail steer me the rest of the way to the car. Once I was in the passenger seat, I cranked the seat back and laid my head back on the headrest.

Gail started the car and got us out of the garage, and in no time, we were on the highway to San Diego, and home. Now, Gail finally opened up and started talking… but about Merc. “Are you going to be able to stop it, Mike?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I replied. “Gail, I’ve pored over everything Mel could point me to, including bits of code that hint at the code in the Merc program itself. One thing I now know about the Merc program: It’s well-written. Another thing I know: It’s very secure. I can’t get in to hack, change or crash the program. I can’t block it at the NASDAQ end. I can block it at the BM end, once or twice, but their guys would find that and work around it right off… waste of time. And right now… I don’t know what other options I have.” I let my head fall back against the headrest. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

We drove in silence for awhile, before Gail spoke again. “Mike… I know how badly you’d like to get at B&M, and get your reputation back. But… if it turned out you couldn’t… if you couldn’t go back to Baltimore…”

“You don’t have to say any more,” I cut her off. “Sure, I’d like to repair my rep. It’s a professional thing. But fixing my rep… going back, staying here, going somewhere else… none of it would mean a damn thing, if I didn’t have you with me.” I reached out and put my hand on her thigh, which almost, but not quite, managed to wake me up a bit. Gail quickly put her hand on mine, and I’m pretty sure she smiled down at me. But at that point, my last erg of consciousness finally deserted me, and I headed off into LaLa Land as we drove out of LaLa Land…

I wish I could say that I was completely out, and didn’t wake back up until we were back home. No such luck. Like any good IT guy with a problem to solve, my subconscious mind kept working away at the problem, turning the bits and pieces into little dream elements and trying to find ways to work them into outlandish fantasy scenarios that would somehow be forgotten by my conscious mind until the split-second I needed a solution, and then in some TV-type dream flashback I’d put the pieces together and save the day. Except that that almost never works in real life… so it was always frustrating when I watched my subconscious mind going through all this nonsense. I felt like a spectator at a bad movie, me and the little MST3K silhouettes, shouting at the screen: “C’mon, lose the bandana, they suck as blindfolds!” “Tell Ripley not to park the Nostromo there… it’ll only sink!” “That’s why they don’t make those in green!” “The fake guy always says ‘He’s a fake!’ first! Don’t change the camera angle, or you’ll lose track!” “No, Kermit, take the left turn!” “Who’s waiting for these biscuits?” And I’ll bet you think I hid a real clue in there with all of those bogus clues, don’t you? You watch too much TV, my friend…

My incredibly stupid dreams were soon interrupted by an earthquake. I’d never been in one before, but I’d read enough about them to never want to be in one. My shock brought me awake instantly, dragging me out of one of the last really stupid dreams, so the first thing I said when I awoke was: “Tell Charlton Heston!”

“What?” Gail looked down at me, eyes wide. It had been her hand on my arm, trying to shake me awake, which had prompted my earthquake reaction. Then she turned back to her driving. “Never mind… that’s not the weirdest thing you’ve said in your sleep in the last hour.”

“I’ve been talking in my sleep?”

“Yes,” Gail said. “And now I know the secrets that you keep.”

“Look who’s talking,” I grinned. “—What did I say? Anything good?”

“Well, the biscuits sounded tasty. But tell the chef they’re always better without prime factorials.”

“Meh.” I tried to remember anything I’d dreamt, but came up dry. “And double-meh. I need—”

“You need rest,” Gail told me. “Let the answers come tomorrow. C’mon, you’re home.”

I looked around. “That explains the four Moons in the sky.”

They weren’t Moons, of course… they were the roof lights in the parking garage of my brother’s apartment building. I climbed out of the car, having gathered enough rest during the trip to at least carry my bag and gear. Gail left hers in the car, and took me upstairs to Pete’s place.

We walked into Pete’s apartment, and found him in the kitchen, making a sandwich. “Hey, guys,” he said, and paused from his sandwich making to come to the foyer. “So, how was your adventure, bro?”

“Adventurous,” I replied. “And tiring.”

Gail nodded. “I’m putting him to bed. Do me a favor, Pete: Keep it down, and let him get some sleep?”

There was something in the way Gail had spoken to my brother, which made him pull up short; though I was too tired to really notice. “Uh. Uh, sure, babe,” he said as Gail and I passed him. “Quiet as a library.” As we passed, Gail reached out and cupped Pete’s cheek. It would occur to me only later that this was the first time I’d seen them actually touch each other since I’d arrived in San Diego.

Gail walked me into my room, took my gear from me in order to put it on the floor, and steered me to the bed. She barely had time to pull the covers back before I flopped into it. “Good boy,” she said soothingly. “Now get some rest. I’ll see you later, lover.”

“You bet. Thanks, Gail,” I said. She responded by leaning over and giving me a kiss on the forehead. Then she stepped lightly out of the room, closing the door behind her. I heard her and Pete’s voices faintly outside, but nothing I could make out… and then I was out, again.