[Steven Lyle Jordan]

7: Showtime

We spent the day waiting. I almost admired BM’s patience in managing to wait out the day… Mel had called at eight, his 11am, and told us he’d put in his notice and walked right out.

“How’d they take it?” Gail had asked.

“Are you kidding?” Mel had replied. “You should’ve seen their faces… I was afraid to turn my back on them.”

“Well, now that you have,” Gail said, “get yourself together and ready to start your new job on the west coast.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“He’s ecstatic,” Gail told me.

“Passing on a chance at jail time will do that to you,” I pointed out. I couldn’t think of the last time I’d heard someone so cheery after they’d just willingly walked out on a few million dollars, net no less. But Mel’s sudden attack of morals was doing me a favor, so who was I to complain?

At 7:10 the next evening, my cellphone beeped. I raised it to my face, and saw the simple word sent to it by my Toughbook: “Now.”

“They just sent the program,” I said, getting up out of the sofa. Gail followed me, while Pete and Reilly stayed in the loveseat in the living room. I climbed over my gear and called up the appropriate screens to see what was going on.

Gail came around the other side and leaned over me to watch the screen. Not being able to read the IT jargon that was now running down the screen, she asked, “What do you see?”

“I see Merc attempting to tap into NASDAQ,” I said, pointing to a series of comments on the screen. I pointed to another set. “That’s my program, copying the Merc login commands, and re-issuing them from another address. And there,” I pointed again, “is NASDAQ encountering both login requests… and cancelling them!”

“It worked!” Gail wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. “It’s working!”

“Yup! Now, the tricky part,” I went on, leaning into the laptop and typing for all I was worth. “Manually saving the data and sending it, in a packet, to the FBI. Their computers are supposed to be able to flag stuff like this, trace them back to their source once they have enough of it, and eventually alert the men to do some door-kicking in Maryland. And speaking of which.”

I closed the Toughbook, stood up, and tucked the laptop under my arm. Looking at everyone, I said, “Time to go.”

“Right,” Pete said, pulling himself out of the loveseat and followed by Reilly. “We’ll hold the fort while you’re gone.”

“If the FBI shows—” I started.

“You left, for we-don’t-know-where,” Pete finished. “Which is the truth, since we don’t know where.” My elder brother held out his hand. “Good luck, bro. Break a leg.”

“Preferably a few… in Baltimore,” I nodded, and accepted his hand. Reilly gave me a quick hug, and a peck on the cheek. This was it. “See you on the other side,” I said. Then I turned to my partner in crime, and said, “Let’s roll, Kato.”

“Who?”

“Kato. Y’know, the Green Hornet. Bruce L—oh, never mind. Come on!”

I almost regretted taking the elevator downstairs, but I was sure there was no way the FBI was going to be that fast showing up here.

Gail glanced at me. “Relax! There’s no way the FBI could get here that fast.” I immediately felt better, and started smiling ear to ear. “What?” Gail asked when she saw my smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Brain leakage!” I replied. “Man, I am so stoked now!”

The elevator doors opened to the garage, and we quick-stepped to Gail’s Eclipse. We climbed in, Gail having the engine revved up before I got my door shut. She threw it in gear, and we squealed out of the parking space. Somewhere in the back of my head, I heard crime jazz winding up… something with lots of high horns and fast cymbals and staccato snare drums.

When we pulled out into the street, however, the entire band stopped on a dime. They stopped, because I saw two unmarked sedans pulling up to the lobby entrance of Pete’s building just as we were driving away. They did get here that fast. Gail and I exchanged wide-eyed looks, and I slumped down in the seat a bit. “This is gonna be close.”

Thereafter, the band played, but they kept it down.

“Take your time,” I said. “Don’t attract a cop’s attention. Relax and follow the route.”

“Yes, Green Hornet sir,” Gail replied.

“Kato would just say, ‘Yes, boss’,” I told her.

“Don’t you wish,” she said.

Unfortunately, even San Diego isn’t wall-to-wall wireless yet. Knowing that, I’d had to do some searching to find some select places I could go where I knew there would be wireless access. And I’d need to stay mobile, so I couldn’t be traced and caught at any one spot, so I needed several places… a half-dozen at most, I guessed. A little thought, and I knew just the thing. I worked out a route, starting at Pete’s place—which I’d gone thoroughly geek and named checkpoint Alpha—and through each checkpoint after that, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Edward, Francis… and Gail. I’d shared the route with Gail that day, and she’d had it memorized hours ago. I kept it from Pete, so he’d have the advantage of plausible deniability… not to mention not being able to give me away, even under torture. We drove carefully, our first stop being only a few blocks away.

Shortly, we drove into a streetside parking lot, and pulled up as close to the storefront as we could manage. Gail parked us nose-out, for a quick getaway, and through her rear-view mirror, I could see the image of the store’s circular logo, easily recognizable when seen normally or reversed.

Gail killed the engine, turned to me, and said, “Now what? We just wait?”

“We just wait,” I confirmed. “BM’ll probably figure out in another few minutes that nothing happened, and they’ll try it again.”

Gail nodded, sat back in her seat… and then looked at the store through her rearview. She started to unbuckle herself. “Well, if we’ve got a few minutes, I’ll go in and use the ladies’ room. Just beep if we have to go, okay?”

“No problem,” I said. Then, as her door shut, I called out, “Wait!”

Gail came back to the car window. “What?”

“As long as you’re in there…”

“Say no more, lover,” Gail grinned. “One grande double-shot skim milk espresso with room, coming up!”