

### Exponential

By JM Addison

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 JM Addison

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Chapter 1

It was one of those times you spent staring at something, but not really seeing it. While sitting there, not looking at that something, your eyes go out of focus and your mind goes free. It was one of those times for him. A time spent thinking hard, but feeling that the thoughts were no measure of progress, just time spent thinking.

It was time to make a decision. He shook off the cobwebs of empty notions and stood up to pace. Here again, another ineffective method of putting forth effort. Who came up with this idea of pacing? But it did seem to somehow return his mind to crisp attention.

Indeed, it was time to decide what to do. First he needed proof. That was going to be like surgery: a little terrifying, but essential. Especially when you've never broken into a vault before. Not really a vault, but it might as well be one. As an employee, he had the upper hand. That granted him certain access. It was just the breaking and entering part, the part that could hurl you straight to prison, that was the thing that put rats in his stomach.

With a sense of uncertain resolve, he felt it was now late enough to perform. His subliminal ego must have somehow known that he would ultimately make this decision. Earlier, he spun that miserable little yarn about needing after-hours access in front of his boss, so he should be able to get most of the way in. What he really needed was to stop that annoying pandemonium of heartbeats.

He wiggled into his jacket, grabbed his computer bag and exited his upper studio apartment. Descending the stairs, he felt the callous fingers of a cold November night slip around him bringing on an instinctive shiver. As he scanned the parked cars there was that brief feeling of vulnerability as he wondered what happened to his missing car. But soon he felt silly as he remembered finding no spot earlier and having to park in the lot for the hi-rise in the next block.

The moments of time on the march to the car allowed space for doubts to drift back to the surface. Hunched inside his jacket like a queer two legged turtle, it seemed as if the chill and his own uncertainties were working together to force open his very essence and put a quiet end to this nonsense. What he needed was to eat. He was still at that stage in life where youthful vitality overcompensated for poor diet and he could eat whatever, whenever with no consequence.

He began to realize that the foundation of his trepidation wasn't the part where he made the trip to jail, but was rather much more serious. If his suspicions were true, what would they be willing to do to be sure the secret never escaped his lips? Certainly, going to jail was a much better alternative than ending up chained to a cement block at the bottom of the river. So, why not salvage his good healthy existence and turn around and go to bed. Again, the doubts were gathering reinforcements. He forced himself to keep moving along, knowing that he really had no choice. He simply must know if the truth was in fact, as ugly as it seemed. He could decide what to do about it later.

Getting a bite to eat seemed like a good plan, but he realized, it was the safe, stable (albeit paranoid) part of him urging him to take pause so that he might convince the curiously reckless part of him to retreat for real. No, he must not give in to the fear. Keep moving.

Glancing up to catch a glimpse of his car, the stark ugliness of the Northeast November seemed to add a layer of grief to his complex recipe of thoughts. What's next? Self-Pity? He thought to himself. At least the drab canvas of lifeless sky made a pleasant contrast with the artistically random array of pinpoint lights scattered liberally across the broken urban horizon. Lights that likely indicated just how many others there were out there busily laboring away in their monotonous little office cubes like so many termites. But was he any different? How often had he been involved in some seemingly important project? Wasn't he just another termite?

He thought briefly of his sister's message home on the machine: "Hey! Give me a call! It's been awhile. Maybe we can do something this weekend... OK? Give me a call. Bye!"

She was right. How long had it been? They both worked at the same company and yet, never saw each other. He needed to see her. Perhaps a dusting of her cheerful personality is just the mojo that could deliver him from the anxious dilemma he was facing. Thinking warmly of her, he strode the few remaining steps to his aging Volvo. He had to admit that the old car seemed shrouded in a cloud of "nerd." Perhaps, it was time he spent some of his well won wealth and invested in something that agreed with his youth.

Suddenly, there was that involuntary shiver. As if we were not alone. Was that a shadow of someone darting away between the cars? He paused to listen, but it was difficult to discern real sounds from the sound of his furious pulse inside his head. He warily made a brief inspection of the exterior and noticed nothing except more rust than he realized.

As he fumbled with his keys, he noticed the alien tremor of his own fingers. Logic demanded that he change his attitude or he was going to let his own apprehension spoil an otherwise fun evening of sneaking around where he didn't have business sneaking. Hardening his resolve he quickly got in the car, tossed his bag on the adjacent seat and got the car started.

His recklessness began to take his apprehension down a degree. After all, what could go wrong? It was at night, few would still be there, he had permission so those that were still there would not see him as anything but another termite droning among the colony. Still, overall alarm prevailed and it kept him in a state of frenzied vigilance.

He wanted to be invisible but knew that was unreasonable. In fact, he felt so obvious that he might as well be driving a pink Volvo. Was his paranoia teasing his sense of logic or was that a car following him? It didn't help that the frosty air inside the car seemed to reach into his lungs with tentacles of pitiless claws.

After making a couple of turns he was unconvinced that he really was being followed. He realized just how much he needed to get this episode over with.

He reached the corporate office park and smiled at the familiar view of the parking lot next to the bleakly modern structure simply beloved by many as "the office." Few cars remained at this hour and he slid casually into a well-lit spot. He locked up and made the short hike to the main employee entrance. Using his computerized ID badge he had no trouble convincing the door to unlock and permit his access. The corridor made its way past the reception area and at this late hour the vivacious receptionist was replaced with a lethargic rent-a-cop. Because of the unusual time, he had to follow corporate security policy and scribble his name at the guard's log book.

So far, no one paid unusual attention. He began to relax. His main goal was to get inside the computer data center of the main software development lab. The data-center was typically off-limits to all except those that were needed to perform operations tasks on the systems that lived inside. Employees that worked on software development projects gained the access they needed from their desktop computer workstations using the corporate network.

But tonight, he could not risk breaking into the computer systems using his own networked workstation. There would be a forensic trail of electronic footprints that would betray him and he would be caught as sure as a blind mouse. He needed direct access to the systems themselves.

For the first time, he noticed how the dead eyes of the security cameras that peppered the premise seemed to be examining him with grim, emotionless attention. It was important to act like he belonged, but his fear seemed to be flashing like a strobe of guilt. He kept moving purposely, although not sure the best route to take. He had to get to the fourth floor which was not as familiar as the floor he spent most of his time in.

Stepping briskly from the elevator he noticed the typical rat's maze of little identical glass prisons that people fondly thought of as their workplace. He made the journey through the pathways arriving smoothly at his destination – the Systems Operations Center.

He checked his watch and could not be more satisfied with the coincident nature of his achievement. Most of the work that was done to care for the greedy and lifeless needs of the computer systems was automated. This left a very light staff of operations personnel and at this moment, he anticipated that none would be working there at the moment.

All he had to do now was breach the castle moat and get the door to open. In his case the door was a door of automated sliding glass held fast by a popular and effective "mag-lock." He only needed to persuade this door that it should open for him.

As he made his approach, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the watchful lens of a camera mounted so that it had a clear view of all who passed over the threshold. He silently implored the unknown gods that governed the laws of Murphy that his temporary access would allow his passage beyond the brink.

While trying not to face the meddlesome camera, he worked his computerized ID at the reader station adjacent to the door. There was a delightful sounding tone that announced success as the door smoothly slipped to the left. As he turned and marched through the door, he noticed that he apparently had stopped breathing in anticipation of a nervous breakdown. A pent up breath escaped leaving him gasping a moment as he scanned the room looking for the particular computer system he needed.

As an MIT graduate specializing in computer science, he was an expert and knew what he was doing when it came to coaxing a computer to give up its darkest secrets. The room was well laid out with clusters of workstations placed strategically at the ends of columns of computer racks.

As he moved among the comatose boxes of blowing fans and whirring disks, the dim lighting cast shadows of autonomous ogres which darted all around him. He located the system he was looking for and sank into a nearby wheeled chair. Gliding up to a keyboard his fingers began to carefully pry and interfere in the computer's business.

His mind became completely absorbed in the secrets he was learning and was shocked to discover that nearly an hour had expired since he began his probe. He had to tread lightly among the computer's files so as not to set off any internal alarms or leave behind telltale traces of his visit. Suddenly, his suspicions become solid facts. Only in this case, the ramifications were more scandalous than he imagined. What he found was no an ordinary cover up. This was purposeful. Intentional. Planned.

The race in his mind went out of control as thoughts of what to do began crashing about overwhelming him with indecision. This knowledge could not stay secret, but who could he tell? Who would believe it? What he needed was evidence. But wouldn't the evidence belie his own criminal nature in attaining it? Now he fully understood the expression, "between a rock and a hard place."

He suddenly had that instinctive prickling sensation of alarm. Was this more paranoia? Just as he was smothering those feelings with logic and facts. He heard the delightful and terrifying tone that announced that someone successfully convinced the door to open indicating the end of his victory. How could he get the necessary evidence out of the data center? Better yet, how could he get himself out of the data center? He could not just abandon the workstation, his efforts would be revealed. Some work remained to cover his tracks. The frantic rush in his head began to smother the drone of machinery around him.

His efforts at the keyboard became desperate. He soon noticed the same deathly shadows darting among the equipment at the approach of the intruder. There simply was no place to conceal himself – everything was made out of computers. But then, would it really matter if he was caught? After all? The temporary access did let him get to where he was. He knew these thoughts to be futile when compared to the value of his discovery. There was no way anyone was going to let him just walk out of here now.

Soon, an idea began to form that offered a delicious glimmer of hope. Perhaps even a chance to legitimize his work tonight! He tried to clear his mind and focus on this new hope. However, his hopes were soon deflated as a man approached – a man that gave the uncaring appearance of someone about to take out the trash. Unfortunately, this man was not alone. These men were stereotypical thugs. One a bit shorter, the other wearing black gloves. Without speaking a word, the man with gloves pulled a small case from inside his jacket.

A wave a nausea stuck as the man opened the case to reveal a syringe which he simply removed and filled from a vial of clear liquid.

Flight instinct took control of his body. Struggling to maintain control of his bladder, he dove under the table supporting the workstation and scrambled out the other side. He glanced back to see the tall man actually smile at the feeble attempt at refuge. They simply walked either side of the workstation and stalked in for a final close. He was able to evade them for a moment and actually make his way back to the workstation. He frantically worked to attempt to work his final plan when he was brusquely lifted from behind by the taller one. At the same moment, the gloved one simply walked up and punched him in the breadbasket. They let him droop to the floor where he lay clutching his stomach trying to entice his lungs to work again.

He labored to his knees and reached out to give a quick and final jab at the computer "Enter" key. Then the ice stab sensation of the needle. He stretched his hand up and back as if to slap a bug from the back of his neck, but his arm weighed too much to make the effort. His head landed on the work-surface and he could see the computer screen appearing sideways. Then he peacefully drifted away to sleep...
Chapter 2

Another day of cold November morning peering gloomily into her windows. Pulling herself out of bed was perhaps the most difficult task of the day. Especially when the chasm between her bed and the thermostat seemed like traversing the arctic tundra in bare feet. Her brief morning workout held the chill at bay and ignited the fuse of motivation to get showered and dressed. She often skipped breakfast, but today she had a minute or so to grab a couple of slices of toast and peruse through yesterday's mail, if you could call it that. So much of it addressed to "resident" or "occupant" she began to feel a pedestrian veil of conformity fall upon her. The usual credit card pre-approved offers, advertisements, a phone bill, nothing interesting. She felt guilty being the consumer of so much waste.

It was time to meet the day head on.

She cloaked her trim figure in a warm, full length winter coat and eagerly greeted the icy morning air. She briefly savored the crisp early chill as she strolled to her car parked on the street next to her apartment building. It took longer than usual for the overtaxed dashboard heater to shove aside the stubborn reach of the morning frost. Just as she pulled through the security checkpoint of the office parking lot, the heat began to make a significant impact making it a shame to park the car.

Mara had been working with the company for two years now. It was hard to believe that much time has gone by. She enjoyed her work for the most part, but work was work and she was not the type to become a slave to her career. She used her encoded ID card to pass through the employee entrance and headed toward the elevator for the ride to the third floor. She noticed that a surprising number of others had beaten her to work today.

The layout of the office was typical of many in the modern corporate world. Offices were located along much of the perimeter so the people who occupied them could boast a window seat with a view of the other buildings with their respective people who has similar window seats. The majority of the floor space of the wing was covered with "Work Stations" which amounted to nothing more than a maze of tiny, identical work locations constructed of fabric coated dividers to provide some level of individual privacy. Desks look more like countertops with built-in areas to house phones, computers and the like.

Mara's particular spot fell somewhere in between. She did not merit the level of tenure to achieve "office" status, yet, as a supervisor by title, she was awarded something more than the standard 6 by 7 "cubicle". An office constructed of the same fabric coated divider material with an extra seat and room for a guest to sit, more file space and a bit more "work surface".

Officially her Title was "Staff Development Supervisor". As with most corporate organizations, others in the company had mixed feelings toward human resources in general. The department title "Human Resources" itself seemed rather cold and impersonal to begin with – treating people as if they were a commodity to be mined like copper or coal. And human resources, or "HR" as it was typically referred to, was often considered both a champion of the employee as well as a spy in the organization.

As staff developer, Mara cared for a variety of tasks. She was involved in most areas of the employment process for the company. She or one of her staff would routinely interview potential "new hires". She also provided assistance to those leaving the company, whether by choice or by force, to ensure their employee rights were protected, that they received the appropriate "vested" retirement benefits, health benefits and so forth. Also, "HR" was responsible for managing any potential layoffs, though none had occurred lately due to the tremendous success of the company. She actually felt fortunate to be working here given the weak economy and poor employment statistics in general.

Today, like most days, she went through her normal daily routine. It was a Wednesday, so she would have to meet with the "team" as the staff she worked with was most often referred to – Although it was hard to imagine what sort of sport her "team" would venture to play. She checked her "messages". The term Message sounds innocuous, much like a rat – seemingly insignificant. One rat could be dealt with, a thousand rats would be a much bigger problem. Messages seemed to be devouring her life sometimes. E-mail, voice-mail, interoffice mail, postal mail, pagers, cell phones it was a wonder that anyone could get any real work done with the constant interruption of "messages" one was forced to receive.

The voice mail light was off, so that was good – no messages there. Postal mail from the previous day was distributed and routed by the corporate mail room staff. Her mail in-box had nothing more that some offers from a training company for a discount on "efficacy" training. Human Resources was primarily responsible for managing most of the "non-technical" training for the corporation. Even on-the-job she was a guilty consumer of more wasted junk mail.

She booted up her desktop computer and went to get some coffee while her machine initialized. In the coffee "nook" she met Jan, one of her benefits administrators rinsing out her mug making it ready to receive a fresh day's worth of the office elixir.

"Hi Jan! Don't forget, it's Wednesday..."

Jan replied with a sleepy look. "I'll be there, I just need a little wake up first."

Mara thought it was amazing how much some people couldn't seem to function without that first cup. Upon returning to her desk, she selected her e-mail program from the choices available and skimmed through the items in her e-mail "inbox". Nothing really important. An message from executive management to all employees about the promising results of this quarter's corporate earnings, a request from one of the marketing managers for a training program schedule for new marketing representatives course all new sales employees received.

Here's a good one: A new message that slipped through the corporate junk email filters from a person who claims to be a77624@anonymous.fi. The subject field was blank. Even mail of the electronic variety seemed prone to fall victim to the "junk" category. Why would anyone even bother to open, much less read, a message from a person or place identified as "anonymous"? She highlighted the message and hit the delete key. At least getting rid of junk e-mail was as easy as blinking your eye.

She had to spend a few minutes preparing for the 9:30 meeting with the team. The department was getting an increasing number of complaints from employees expressing dissatisfaction with the current health benefit plan. A key topic would be discussing the issues and determining if seeking an alternative health insurer would be a viable, if not a little radical, solution.

She wondered why she hadn't heard from Chris in a while. Usually they had contact about once a week. She called and left a message at his apartment but he had not returned the call. Lately he seemed a little preoccupied. Probably some big work project keeping him busy. Should could call his office phone, after all, he worked in the same building, just down on the second floor. But she hated to interrupt. She didn't want him to beef up the teasing about having his big sister still baby-sitting her little brother. That he was a big boy now and didn't need help from her.

Of course it was all just playful banter. But she had to be careful. With her working in human resources, some could misinterpret his employment as favoritism on the part of his sister. She knew that he landed this job all on his own. She merely suggested that he apply here. In fact, she couldn't even understand half of what he did. Graduating with honors from MIT was certainly his achievement and getting hired by the software development group was also something that he could only do by impressing the department with his clear math skills and evident knowledge of internal computer operation.

She decided that if she doesn't hear from him in a day or so, she would give his office number a try. Meanwhile, she dashed off a quick e-mail:

"Lunch?" was all it said.

* * *

"Well Damian? Did you take care of it?" The powerfully built man who spoke with an impressive baritone was obviously in command of the meeting.

"Yes, it was rather trivial. Caught him snooping around where he shouldn't have been." Came the reply from "Damian", a lanky but remarkably thin man. Damian had an unusual combination of mismatched facial features that produced an exceptionally homely result. Most would feel sorry for him, that is until they met the even homelier personality. Judging from his apparent age of mid-forties, he was suffering from early hair loss along with an evident ignorance of good dental care. Most notable was the scar that ran from his left cheek to a bit below the weak jaw line. Altogether, not an attractive package. In the weakly lit office, he looked even frightful.

"How much does he know?" The commanding voice seemed to make the man in charge even a little taller.

"We can't really tell. Our methods of getting him to converse so far have been, shall I say, somewhat less than effective." Replied Damian.

"Our real concern is not what he knows but who else could he have been talking to!"

After a brief pause, Damian went on. "So far we believe he only had some suspicions which he was unable to confirm. If that's all, we can simply shut him up for good. According to the intelligence we have on him, he has no real attachments to anyone. The appearance of a simple accident should do just fine."

"According to YOUR INTELLIGENCE!? Your 'intelligence,' or lack thereof, is what got us into this mess! Don't get rid of him just yet until we are absolutely certain he didn't leak information or make contact with anyone else."

Damian blinked a few times, somewhat offended by the implied blame that seemed to somehow be settling around him like a bad odor before continuing. "We could move him easily enough. In fact we could use the corporate jet and 'store' him away indefinitely for that matter. As soon as we are positive of any important details, then we could lose him."

The man in charge spun and pointed a stern finger at Damian. "Since those two knuckle heads you call security agents don't even share one full brain between them, _you_ need to find out what he was doing in there! I don't need to tell you what could happen if this gets out!"

Damian was used to the spirited disposition of his employer. But he was agitated much more than Damian had ever seen him before. Yes, he reflected, while this was serious, Damian didn't want to be the fall guy on this one. "I'll put Sonner and Morgan on it, they're the best. Plus, no one would notice them poking around the systems, that's what they do anyway. They understand how important this is."

"Keep me posted. Let me know immediately if they find anything or if he talks. I think we all have work to do."

Clearly dismissed, Damian turned, happy to escape the tense confinement of the meeting.
Chapter 3

The rest of that day was predictable. The benefits discussions went well, but no decision to stay with the current provider of medical benefits or switch to a new insurer had been made. Mara's attention was directed in several different directions throughout the afternoon and before she knew it, most of the staff had left for the day. She wanted to finish up a few minor tasks before leaving and really hadn't thought about her plans for the evening.

She had been working more than usual, but this didn't bother her. She was well liked by the team and was generally noticed with favor by her management. While Mara and her immediate superior often did not see eye to eye, for the most part, they stayed out of each other's way.

She thought about going for a workout. She joined a "body conditioning" club and there was a well-equipped workout center right here in the corporate headquarters building. She hadn't been for a while and she felt a bit of buyer's remorse to make more use of her membership since she had paid enough for it. She was often critical of her appearance and a good workout would relieve a little of her guilt over the occasional overindulgence in fast food.

Most would consider Mara "cute" with brunette hair cut in a chin length straight bob, bright blue eyes and just a few well-placed freckles on her petite nose. She also had the unique ability to lift only one eyebrow. This allowed her to appear almost poetic with facial expressions of surprise or concern. She didn't do it consciously, it just happened naturally. Not to be misled by her small size, many were surprised by her direct and firm management style and ability to get others motivated to perform.

As for the rest of the evening, she didn't feel like cooking. Besides, cooking for one was just a ridiculous undertaking. She considered take-out but reflected how that would be another evening of junk food that she would have to work off in the end, so she decided to punish herself by planning to have a healthy salad, juice, tuna (straight) and some fruit. She wouldn't need to stop by the store. Besides, this way she could postpone the workout and not feel too guilty about it.

She checked her email inbox one more time before shutting off her desktop computer and remembered her message to Chris that morning about getting together for lunch. He hadn't responded. Then she noted that the message status was marked "delivered" but not "opened" by the recipient. Typical. Probably so consumed with the latest elaborate math problem or trying to de-bug some rat's nest of computer code that he didn't even bother to check his messages. She would try again in the morning.

She reflected for a moment on how well her and Chris were getting along now. While he was in college, he certainly had his irritating moments. His "know-it-all" attitude and lack of regard for just about anybody eventually eroded their relationship into something like an open sore. Don't touch it and it won't hurt. But, upon reflection, she could remember her college days not so long before his. What was it her mother used to say? "full of herself". That's how she described Mara. Here they were now, both working in the same town, in fact the same corporation.

In May of the past year, Chris was seeking employment opportunities through the campus placement office. He had a few good prospects and even with the difficult job market, could afford to be a bit selective. He graduated from a prestigious educational institution with honors. His major was computer science with a strong background in mathematics. A very desirable choice indeed for many high-tech organizations. His most promising prospect was working for the National Security Agency, but Chris was pretty "laid back" and would probably be considered a rebel when compared to the stiff geek types often popular among such agencies.

When Mara suggested he give Viiradium Corp. a good look because of their high-tech computer focus, he thought, "Why Not?" Viiradium was a highly regarded computer software application development company specializing in network security products. In fact, many of the network encryption methods that were developed at Viiradium have become world standards used heavily throughout the Internet. There was a continual effort to strengthen internet security because hackers the world over continue to improve their hacking skills and techniques. Keeping the internet secure was one of the foundation ambitions of Viiradium. These security techniques combine a bewildering array of computer software programming with complex mathematics – both of which were what a rebellious geek like Chris considered fun.

Eventually, Viiradium made a generously attractive offer that drew Chris here. He was a little concerned that perhaps Mara might have had some influence with the company to extend the employment offer to him, but she assured him, she had not and such unethical behavior was not tolerated.

Even though he chose a local institution for his higher education, they didn't really see much of each other during his college years. It was the typical brother – sister relationship. She being a little older seemed always to be in charge and with good intentions, providing ample advice and opinion. He being the "little" brother, was nonchalant and disinterested in her "meddling".

But more recently, their relationship had improved and matured into a form of appreciation only blood ties can engender. They had both mellowed and were getting together for lunch at least a couple of times per month. There was no question that she loved him as her brother. She remembered how upset she was on many occasions while he got himself into a jam now and then because of what she considered his immaturity. The cause for her distress was simply that she cared for him and didn't want him to find the sort of trouble that could bring an unintended episode of long term suffering.

On the drive back to her apartment, she reflected on her breakup with Alan. A few weeks ago she thought that she might be in a long term, perhaps even permanent, relationship. But as the relationship matured, he began to give increasing attention to his work as an architect for a prominent downtown developer. Obviously they both had careers which were important to each, but she didn't feel an occupation was worth more than the jewel of a meaningful lifelong relationship. She could understand working late and the need for out of town trips when they were required, but she began to feel secondary. When she tried to discuss her concerns, they usually ended up just fighting about it with no progress toward a meaningful resolution. Eventually their relationship deteriorated to the point where they mutually stopped seeing each other. Even though it was for the best and they parted relatively agreeable, it still left her depressed and Chris stepped in to offer support and boost her spirits during the breakup. It was nice having a "big" little brother to help out when you really needed someone. In fact, it surprised her how much she was able to confide in him and how much his support soothed her distress. "After all", he would say, "it's only romance, not like the end of the world or the loss of your brother or something!"

She needed a little of that casual indifference in her life. He didn't take things too seriously and he seemed genuinely happy. While having a few girlfriends during school, but now he was "between relationships".

By the time she arrived home, she entered her apartment with a carefree attitude and more relaxed about everything in general. She appreciated the prospect of a quiet evening. She even started reading a book the other day to which she was looking forward to becoming lost in while she took a hot bath. Yes, she thought, the key was being more lighthearted about things. That seemed to work. She would have to follow her brother's example and adopt his sense of careless indifference toward life in general.

At her desk the next day, the early routine was quite like the day before, most days in fact. After reviewing her "messages", she reviewed her schedule for the day. She decided to leave Chris a voice-mail message now, so that when he came in, it would be waiting for him. "Chris, where have you been. How 'bout returning my calls, you bum! It's Mara – like you couldn't tell – give me a call back. See ya."

This morning she had a meeting scheduled with an outside training provider. This company supplied training specifically focused on improving the sales skills of the marketing staff. In her case, Viiradium had a marketing department and a few people that she supposed you could call "sales" reps, but the company was profitably in the middle of a very popular movement toward improving computer network security. It seems that companies were coming to them ready to buy product without having to send sales people out to those companies. But it would be good to have a better focus toward sales and product delivery. After all, other companies were recognizing the potential for success competing with establishments like Veridum. She would not be responsible for any change in direction of the marketing department, but she did want to know what training resources would be available to assist them to improve and refine their abilities and the overall sales process.

She also had to review some of the research her team was doing on the medical benefits issues. Should they insist on a more agreeable benefits package from the current insurance administrator or should they select an alternative? It was a becoming big issue. It would mean changes for just about the everyone in the entire organization of fifteen thousand employees. Those changes would be brought about by the needs and desires of a relative few. However, would those changes bring more benefit to everyone at a lower premium cost to the company?

By late afternoon, Chris still hadn't returned her earlier call or even earlier e-mail from the previous day. She decided to try him again. She hated to bother him. Maybe he had met someone and suddenly his life was just too busy to return phone calls from his sister. Perhaps he was intently involved in an important project and simply didn't get back to her, yet. After the fourth ring, his voice mail greeting began. On a whim she punched the "O" to transfer the call to the department administrative assistant. Mara couldn't remember her name.

"Chris Chandler's office, this is Corrine, may I help you?"

Mara didn't know if Corrine had one of the executive secretary phone consoles that indicated the extension of the person calling. She decided to play it dumb. "Oh, Hi. I was looking for Chris, he hadn't returned my call from earlier. Would he be available?"

"Chris is not in today. In fact he sent a message indicating he has the flu and probably wouldn't be in for a couple of days. May I take a message or direct your call to someone else to help you?"

"That's O.K. It's not urgent. I left him a message so I'll wait until he is able to call back. Thanks." She hung up and a little crease of worry lined her forehead. She better check up on him.

Obviously, since he has the flu, he must be home. She called his mobile number. His voicemail assaulted her with his ridiculous greeting message: "I'm sorry, we're closed right now. Leave a message and we will be happy to assist you when someone is available..."

At the tone she left a message: "Chris? Are you there...? Your office says you have the flu. If you need something, give me a call. Bye." Again, a crease of worry lined her forehead as she frowned with a curious one-raised-eyebrow sort of way. She tried his home number. Again, no answer until the machine picked up. Could he be so sick he didn't want to pick up the phone? She wondered what she would do if she were in bed with the flu. Probably let the caller leave a message. He probably went to bed and turned the ringer off, silenced his cell phone and tried to sleep. She would be sure to stop by and check up on him after work tomorrow.

She finished up the rest of her activities for the day but was plagued with distraction as her mind drifted to Chris. She was surprised and felt a little guilty that she didn't even know he was sick and that she had to find out through the people in his department. She signed off from her desktop computer, noticed that her voice mail light was not blinking, collected her purse and headed for the parking lot. She made up her mind that she wasn't going to wait until tomorrow.

Chris lived a little closer that she. He was able to land a pretty good deal on his apartment. It was one of those converted factory type buildings in the old section of Bedford. It was the classic Bachelor Pad with a heavy dose of computer nerd influence. He would tinker with various computer and software problems on the variety of computer equipment he had at home. However, he preferred to do most of his work at the office. The company had much more impressive computing gear and a good variety of high speed processing available. The stringent security policies of the product development group made working remotely almost impossible. In fact Chris often complained about the painfully restrictive policies guarding the collection of computer systems and networks at the office. It was just easier to be at the office.

The thought suddenly struck her as odd that Corrine said "he sent a message" about his absence due to the flu. Did she mean he sent an email message? A text message? It seems more natural for people to call their office when they are sick. Why bother to connect and compose a message to send or even a text when a quick phone call from bed would do?

As she drove up to a curb-side parking spot, she killed her headlights and could look up and see the windows of Chris' third floor flat. They were dark. She locked her car and entered the building. As she admitted herself, she had an odd feeling of not being entirely alone. Was she being watched? Perhaps Chris peering through the window? The old converted freight elevator brought her slowly to the third floor. She got out in a small closed off section at the back of the building. The door in front of her led to Chris' apartment. The door to her left went into a utility and maintenance area. To her right a short section of hallway which ended at a window.

She approached the door and knocked. "Chris?" she said tentatively. No answer. She knocked louder but there was no response. She knew he kept a spare key tucked into the top of the window frame at the end of the hall so she retrieved it and turned open the lock. Upon entering, the place was dark. She could see the faint glow of the blinking light of his answering machine. She fumbled for the light switch but couldn't find one. She could make out the silhouette of a lamp contrasted in the dim glow of the windows as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She approached it and turned it on. Everything looked rather normal. Another call, quite loudly this time: "Chris?"

Again no response. She walked past the kitchen area down the hall to his bedroom. She went in and turned on the light. His bed was not made, but he probably never made it. It could have been that way for days. She began to experience mixed feelings of fear and anger. "What could have happened to him?" she worried to herself. Then "Now where has he run off to?" she fumed.

She made a cursory check of the bathroom but found it empty. Back out in the main room she noted his machine had two messages. She pressed the "play" button:

"Hey Chris, it's Marty! I thought we were going over the project plans for the new data cell algorithms. Where are you? I tried your cell, and your office!" The message indicated that it was recorded on 9:24 AM on Wednesday.

The second message was simply someone hanging up on the machine. It was recorded on Thursday at 11:01 AM. She thought back to when she last called him. She thought it was Tuesday near the end of the day. That message wasn't here, so he must have listened to it. But the next message recorded on Wednesday meant that Chris hadn't been here since sometime before then. So all of Wednesday and today, Thursday, he was gone. But gone where?

She looked around the main great room. The place looked typical for a bachelor not long out of school. Prominently featured adjacent to the phone and answering machine was two adjoining tables covered with various junk. Computer manuals, scattered mail, a couple of flat-screen monitors with related computer paraphernalia: mice, keyboards, some speakers and lots of wires and cable sort of configured in a spaghetti fashion. She wondered if any of it held any clues but had no idea where to begin looking.

She approached the window and peered through the blinds down at the street below. Parked cars lined the side of the street in which parking was allowed. Although it was dark, the crumb of dim lighting from within the apartment created sufficient reflection so that it was difficult to see much. However, she thought she noticed slight movement by the corner of the block opposite. Perhaps as if someone ducked back into the shadows to avoid being seen. Could someone be watching his apartment? See her peer through the blinds?

This was plain nuts. Here she was getting all paranoid when he probably just skipped off for a little overnight trip with the latest girlfriend. He was not seeing anyone that she knew of. But that would explain calling in sick and forgetting about work for a couple of days. It reminded her of some of his irresponsible dealings while in school. She thought that he had matured some now with a regular job and such. But why would he really be any different. She was disappointed that he at least didn't let her know.

It would be best to leave and just check up on him tomorrow. She decided to jot a brief note and leave it on the top of the mess next to his computer keyboards. That's probably where he would most likely see it. If he returned, he would be sure to get either the note, the e-mail or the voice-mail message she left and respond. If not, she would find out where he went. He must have left word with someone.

On the drive back she noticed that her car was near empty and she would need to stop and fill up. She pulled into a filling station and began the procedure buy fuel with her credit card and fill up the tank. As she stood waiting for the pump to signal the tank was full she noticed a deep red Ford Taurus pull along the curb on the opposite side of the road on the other side of the intersection. It seemed like a strange place to pull over since there was nothing over there worth parking in front of. Just as odd was the fact that no one got out. Perhaps pulling over to use a cell phone? Do people really do that?

She completed her sale and resumed the trip back to her place. It was getting a little later and she was having good success making the lights as they were green. The next one turned yellow and she was too far to gun the engine and zip through, so she had to stop. It was a major intersection anyway, so other cars were waiting for their light to turn green. She waited as the adjacent lane left turn green went to yellow and prepared to step on the gas as her light would be turning green any second. However, a glance in the rear view mirror revealed the deep red Taurus she noted parking near the filling station. Was she being followed? This wasn't a movie. There are lots of deep red Taurus sedans on the road.

Here light turned and she accelerated away. But she deliberately missed the turn she needed to take to make her way back to her place and instead, went down to the next intersection and made a right on red. She drove about a block and a half and pulled into a parking area of a small suburban strip plaza. She positioned her car parallel to the road and watched the intersection a block away. It was well lit, and the unmistakable form of a deep red Taurus sedan made the same turn.

Perhaps she was over reacting, but she felt her heart skip a beat and her pulse quicken. She slid down a bit as the car drove by on the street parallel to the plaza. She tried to get a peek at the driver, but couldn't make out much in the dark. From her position she caught a brief glimpse of the Massachusetts tags and could make out the LZ2 beginnings of the number before it got out of visual range. The car continued on for a bit as she patiently waited for the view of its tail lights to move out of sight. However, she watched it make a left into a McDonalds about a block away.

As the car drove around the opposite side of the restaurant, she quickly made a U-turn in the parking lot and exited heading back the way she came. At the light she made a right and sped away from the intersection. She didn't want to head home just yet. Was the car at the McDonalds just stopping for a late snack or was she being followed and the pursuer was casually attempting not to be noticed.

She was approaching the West View mall and decided to pull in. Most of the parking lots were vacant as the stores were either closing or already closed. She headed to the free four level parking ramp and drove in. On the second level she stopped the car in a spot where one of the overhead lights were out and got out of the car. She walked over to the edge and stood next to a support pillar looking out over the parking lots below. She could see the parking lot entrance from the street that she used as well as the next entrance farther on.

Soon, her fears were confirmed. A Deep red Taurus Sedan cruised in the same lot entrance she used. She couldn't make out the license tag number from her position, but it was too much to be coincidence. Now her pulse wasn't just quick, it was racing! Why would someone follow her? Had it been from Chris' place or had they been following before she even got there? She watched the car with apprehension. If it pulled into her same multi-level ramp, she would need to dash back to her car and make a run for it. It slowed a little and negotiated a couple of the parking isles. Finally it stopped a little further away. Then turned and headed for the exit back to the street. It went right and drove on. She silently watched as it drove out of sight to the right.

She waited a long time. Finally she noticed that in spite of her fear, she felt quite cold. She jumped at the sound of a car door slamming and realized that someone parked at the far end of her level was getting into their car and going home for the evening. Hopefully the pursuers were led astray and not simply waiting for her to show herself so they could follow again. She got back into her car and started the engine. She sat there a while as the interior heated up. Finally, she started out for home.

She took a circuitous route all the while paying close attention to who was behind her. Her mind started to play tricks. Was that black van the same as the one a few blocks back? Eventually she decided that she was being unreasonable and made her way to her apartment. She pulled in the tenant drive, killed the engine and sat and watched for a while. Convinced no one had followed, she cautiously got out and entered the building.

The first thought as she locked herself into her place was to call Mom. She hadn't realized how long she was out and noted with some alarm that it was approaching eleven. Still, she didn't want to wait. Hopefully, her mother would still be up and would have heard where Chris may be. Mara needed to talk to someone about her ordeal. She called her place in New Hampshire.

After the fourth ring, Mara figured the machine would probably get it. As she prepared to leave a message, her mom's voice come on the line, "Hello?"

"Mom! It's Mara!"

"Mara? Isn't it a little late? I never hear from you guys and then, out of the blue you call at 11:00 at night! Is everything alright?"

"Well, I wonder if you might have heard from Chris the past couple of days.

"Chris? I hear from him less than I do from you. No I haven't heard from Him for... I guess it's been two or three weeks. Why is something wrong?"

"Well, he's sort of missing."

"What do you mean, 'missing'."

"He called into work sick today, but I don't think anyone's even seen him since Tuesday. I went over to his place tonight to check up on him since I thought he was sick, but no one was there. I let myself in and looked around, but no sign of him. Then as I was driving back home, I was followed."

"When? Tonight? You were followed home?"

"I was, but I discovered them and was able to lose them. But I'm sure they followed me."

"This sounds a like a little bit of imagination getting the best of you is you ask me. He's probably just taken off on one of his little 'outings' again. Maybe he's away for the weekend."

Mara explained how she was able to conceal herself in the parking ramp while observing her pursuers in their search for her.

Her mother continued, "Well now your scaring me! Who would be following you? Someone else looking for Chris? What kind of trouble has he gotten into now? Have you said anything to the police?"

"No, I didn't want to make a big deal out of nothing."

"Well it seems for sure you were followed. And Chris does seem to be missing. It might be a good idea to get the police involved. I hate to think what might have happened, especially if someone else is looking for him."

"I'll stop back to the office in the morning. I'll ask around a little and see when anyone's last seen him. I guess I'll decide then whether to call the police or not."

*

The persistent ring of the cell phone lying on the table seemed to gain momentum and strength with each new sound. Damian was never a fan of "ring tones" and liked his ring to be... well, just a ring. He thought he'd better answer it. After all, it could be Red. He fumbled with the buttons to answer and brought to phone to his ear. It was Red. That distinctive baritone was familiar anywhere. It said "Well, you must have something by now!"

"We're working on it. Mogan and Stanley have thoroughly gone over the systems. He's a pretty brilliant kid. Looks as though he's definitely discovered the worst." Damian said.

"That's not a surprise, what's really important is who else knows!" Red replied hotly.

"He's was in the process of covering his tracks when he was abruptly interrupted by our people. We know he sent mail out through the system."

"E-mail? He sent e-mail!? To Who!" Red's controlled command seemed the breaking apart a little.

"Well that's the problem." Damian continued. "He sent the mail through an anonymous re-mailer outside the US. That much we can determine from the logs in the system. He was able to delete the contents of the message just has we yanked him off the keyboard."

"Certainly we can tell who his intended recipient was, can't we?" Red asked.

"We can trace the message routing all the way to the re-mailer site. But the intended eventual recipient is contained within the message itself. Once it is received by the re-mailer, it is re-sent to the correct addressee with the original mail header stripped." Damian replied.

"I don't like where this is heading. Are you saying we can't tell who he might have sent a message to?" Red said.

"Well, that's why they call it anonymous. You're not supposed to know who sent it unless the sender identifies himself within the message. We dumped the logs of all messages buffered in the network, but we got to it too late. There's only enough room in the buffers to hold 40-50 minutes worth of messages at the rate mail moves through our network. He sent this Tuesday night." Damian explained.

"I don't believe this." Red fumed. "You mean that this kid, this kid who we evidently underestimated as a top graduate by the way, discovers our little secret and then simply e-mails someone about it? He could have e-mailed the FBI for Chrissakes!"

"Well it would likely be a short message. Coming from an 'anonymous' source, it would probably not be taken seriously by any law enforcement agency." Damian said.

"Here you go with your 'probably' again! What about the re-mailer outfit? Do we have any leverage with them?" Red asked.

"Not directly since they are a foreign organization and don't happen to use our equipment or products. However they have a main feed into the US through Tri-Com. As you know, through our listening post we can enable a probe to monitor just about any electronic conversation we want, however, since we didn't know, we didn't enable the probe in time and now it's too late. As far as the re-mailer organization themselves, we've made a polite enquiry, but they pride themselves on the anonymous service they offer and aren't likely to hand over anything." Damian explained.

"Is this all the news that you have or does it get worse?" Red asked.

We've checked out the kid pretty thoroughly. We even went through his voice mail messages. We weren't having too much success, but last night we might actually have gotten onto a real lead. Someone stopped by the kid's apartment tonight. Let herself in and everything." Damian said.

"Who is she?" Red asked.

"We didn't want to grab her just yet until we take a good look into her affairs. We followed her, but she gave us the slip. We got her license tag number though so we will just pull it off the DMV computer tomorrow and we can start to further investigate." Damian said.

"Perhaps it didn't dawn on you dimwits" Red announced. "If she 'gave you the slip' then she's been tipped off. I don't want this mess getting any worse. We can't just keep grabbing people off the streets or scaring the crap out of them. I suggest you and your goons do your job before we all end up in the crapper!"

Damian looked at the phone because it had just gone dead. Red hung up on him. What a prick. But he had to admit. The situation wasn't looking very good.

Chapter 4

During the night, Mara endured a tempestuous sleep. Continued conflict of worry against anger made a good rest difficult. She awoke with something similar to a hangover as if she spent the night drinking. One look in the mirror only made her feel worse. A mixture of exhaustion and apprehension gave her an odd feeling of tired nervousness. She was up early and yanked herself through the morning ritual of showering, dressing and grabbing a bite to eat which certainly wouldn't be considered health food.

On the way to the office, she thought about what to do next with regard to discovering what had happened to Chris. She was a Human Resources supervisor with freedom to go most places within the company. However, the software development labs were pretty well off limits to most employees. She thought she would check around his cubicle first. Casually ask anyone who might be in the area when they last saw him. Perhaps she would look up who this "Marty" was that left the message on Chris's home Number and ask him.

She went through the motions of entering the parking lot passing the Guard station and gaining access to the employee entrance. She went upstairs and booted up her computer. Here voice mail indicator showed that she had messages waiting. So while she waited for her computer to finish coming up, she went through them. They were pretty typical. Nothing that might lead her to knowing what happened to Chris. It was hard to pay attention to them with thoughts of last tight tugging away at her ability to focus.

Once her computer was up, she pulled up the employee database. Being a supervisor in Human Resources she had access to all employee personnel records. She looked up Chris Chandler to get his department code: 018A. Then she filtered all employee records to only those that matched department code 018A and first name "Martin". Bingo! One "Martin Kowalski" worked in the same department. She pulled up his employee record, jotted down his phone number and noted his location: This building, second floor, application development department. Same as Chris. This had to be the guy that called Chris and left a message on his machine. Now should she go find him, or just give him a call?

She thought that a phone call would raise less suspicions. She wanted to call as a Human Resources representative, not as Chris' big sister so she decided to use someone else's phone. That way, if "Marty" had one of the phones that displayed the name and number of the caller, he would not see "Chandler" on the display and make the connection. If Chris worked with the guy, he probably knew all about the fact that Chris' sister worked here too.

She picked up the phone of one of her staff members who wasn't in and punched in his number. It was only a little after eight and she wondered if he was even in yet. After a couple of rings he answered with an enthusiastic "This is Marty!"

"Eh, hello Martin, this is Mara in human resources." She said in what she felt was a businesslike flair. "You wouldn't by chance have seen Chris Chandler this morning have you?"

"No, in fact, I was supposed to see him since, like, yesterday. But I heard he's home with the flu. Must be a rotten one too, because he usually comes in to work in spite of what ails him. Ha!"

She didn't think his doleful attempt at humor met any normal standards for intelligent thought. This wasn't going anywhere. She would have to try something else.

"Thanks for your help Martin, I left a voice mail with him – that explains why he hasn't called back. Do you know when he was last in?"

"Yeah, I saw him on Tuesday. In fact we worked together for a while on a new project. We were working on a new algorithm for rapid manipulation of... Oh! I don't suppose you care to hear about..."

"That's OK Martin." What a geek, she thought. "I just needed to get some beneficiary information missing in his personnel file." She lied. "Thanks again for your help." Then she quickly hung up the phone.

She wondered what to do next. As she turned to go back to her office, she saw Will Cohen, the Director of Resource Management heading to his office. Will was several layers of strata above her in terms of the corporate food chain. He worked in this part of the building because human resources was one of the departments in which he had executive oversight. He liked being a little closer to where many of his people worked. In fact, that kind of management thinking was popular throughout the corporation. Hence the executives were sort of distributed throughout the organization. It made executive meetings a little tough, however, this tended to reduce the number of meetings which many view as a loss in actual productive time anyway. Many believed that distributed executives actually improved overall efficiency.

She had sort of an on-again off-again (more off than on), relationship with him in the past. They had lunch a couple of times and hit it off pretty good, but he was divorced, a little bit too much older than she was for her liking. Plus, people tended to exaggerate juicy tidbits of gossip about someone who might be dating a corporate executive. So they mutually agreed the relationship would not be able to progress. Although it was quite some time since they were seeing each other, she was still on good terms with him and he was someone she trusted.

After a moment of consideration, she made an about-face and headed toward his office. She thought if she could just talk a little about her "missing" brother, she might develop some idea of what to do next.

As she approached his office, she almost bumped into him as he came back out with his empty coffee mug in his hand, no doubt on his way to fill up.

"Oh! Hi Mara!" He took a couple of steps backward and motioned her through the door ahead of him. He always was considerate. One of the things she liked about him. "How have you been?" he asked.

"Great, Will. Good to see you." She realized she sounded a bit hollow.

"Well I can see from that little telltale look of worry on your face that something is bothering you. Is everything OK?" Just like him to get right to the point. No chit chat.

"Fine. Nothing urgent. Just was a little worried about my little brother."

"Let's see now, that's Chris, right? He's the one working here with our application development team?" he asked with a bit of empathy in his voice.

He couldn't possibly be familiar with all the employees, but no doubt he remembered their conversations in the past about Chris. when he was first hired, whether any might imagine impropriety with a relative in HR. "Yes, I haven't heard from him in a while. He hasn't let me know where he may have gone and he doesn't return my phone calls."

"How long has it been since you talked with him?"

She sort of blurted the whole story in a single sentence: "Well, it's been over a week. But I first left him a message Tuesday. Since then I left him messages at work, on his cell and at home, I left him an e-mail message and even stopped by his apartment. He wasn't there. I didn't even see his car although I think he usually parks in a small lot behind his building. I called my Mother to find out if she's heard from him and she hasn't..."

"Hold on! Slow down a little. I can't keep up. So really it's been only since Tuesday that he's actually been missing. Was he seen around here by any of the other people in his department either Monday or Tuesday?"

"I talked with someone in his department who said he was definitely in on Tuesday."

"Well it wouldn't be the first time someone lied about being sick to get out of coming in to work. Perhaps he just took a short trip. Has he ever done anything like that before?"

"Not recently. When he was in school, he pulled a couple of stunts that had us worried, but he's become much more predictable now with the responsibility of work. And it's work he seems to really enjoy. He's really sharp when it comes to program development and computers and he seems to fit right in here with his job. We talk at least once a week and quite often get together for a quick lunch."

"Has he made any recent romantic attachments? Perhaps a little get-away trip with someone special?"

"Not that I know of. I would be surprised if he hadn't told me, but he hasn't had a girlfriend in quite a while. So I don't know for sure." She continued: "I know this seems a little reactionary, but I was thinking of reporting him missing."

"You mean the police?"

"Well, yes. I mean he's been missing for two days. I'm getting a little worried."

"I understand, but why don't I check with the supervisors in his department. Perhaps they know the real story. Maybe someone he works closely with, someone he would consider a confidant. They might have heard from him or would know where he went."

She felt a little skeptical and relieved at the same time. At least someone was trying something she thought. "That would be OK. It's a good place to start I guess."

"As soon as I hear from anybody, I will let you know right away." He soothed.

"OK. Thanks a lot Will. I hate being a pain, but I'm just worried, that's all."

"As you should be. Let me see what I can find out." He surprised her by lightly pulling her toward him and giving her a firm but brief hug.

As she walked back to her desk, she felt even more at odds with her emotions. She held back the incident with the car following her the previous night. She was afraid she would sound like a ditz babbling on about being followed like some cliché out of the movies. She still had an underlying feeling of worry not knowing what really happened and concerned that Chris might be in trouble. She also still felt a little mad at Chris for doing this to her – making her feel this way. Now her conversation with Will brought her some relief, yet she was fairly certain that he wouldn't be able to find out anything.

She sat down to do whatever she had to do next, but couldn't keep focused on the day's tasks. Her mind kept drifting to what she should do next. Perhaps a trip down to the second floor would help. She had to do something and sitting here trying to do her job certainly wasn't getting her mind off the situation. She reminded herself again that the car following her was indeed real. Something wasn't right.

She got off the elevator on the second floor and headed down toward the wing of the building where Chris had a cubicle. He spent a lot of time working in some of the various development lab areas, but his cubicle had the standard issue office Computer and phone. As she negotiated the maze of isles, she noted that the place was pretty busy looking. There were a couple of impromptu meetings made up of people gathered casually having spontaneous discussions relating to various computing issues. Others were on the phone or staring intently at their computer monitors as if there was an Oscar winning performance being displayed or something.

She arrived at Chris's cubicle and sat in his chair. His computer and monitor were off. He had a lot of technical publications crammed among the shelving units. His desktop was pretty much covered with an incomprehensible array of notes, printouts and even a couple of magazines related to computer topics.

Pinned to one partition was a group calendar with various meetings scribbled in. She noted that Wednesday had a note with regard to Marty's meeting: "Mtg. w/ Marty, Joanna – New data element structure." She wondered who "Joanna" was. Next Tuesday was a reference to the monthly management review meeting. She wondered if he kept more detailed meeting noted in his cell phone or computer calendar.

Sitting here looking around, she didn't notice anything odd or that might be considered a clue. She heard a voice from behind, "May I help you?"

She turned and found a blonde woman looking back at her. "Oh Hi! Are you Corrine?" Mara said with a bit of surprise.

"No, Joanna. I work with him."

"Him?"

"Chris, the guy whose desk you're sitting at." Joanna made a gesture toward the flat screen monitor on Chris' desk.

"Oh! Sorry. I'm Mara. Chris' sister." She noticed Joanna looked like the female version of the stereotypical computer nerd. A little unkempt, slightly overweight, obviously unconcerned about her selection of clothing but friendly and cheerful.

"Mara? Yes, I recall Chris mentioned he had a sister. How is he doing? Does he need anything?"

"Need anything?" Mara felt that this girl was always one assumption ahead of her.

"He called in sick Wednesday. When you mentioned you were his sister, I just thought you stopped by to pick up something he might have asked for from his office."

"Well actually, I was wondering just wondering where he actually is. I tried to call him at home, but haven't been able to reach him. I was hoping that perhaps he had returned to work or that maybe even someone here has seen or heard from him." Mara didn't go into the details of visiting his apartment and such.

"Well, I don't believe anyone has seen him since... Tuesday I guess. Yes, I saw him Tuesday."

"Well if you or anyone hear from him, please ask him to call his sister."

"No problem. You don't think he's in any serious trouble do you?"

"Well, when I get the flu bad enough, I usually ignore the phone, so hopefully he'll be back on his feet Monday after a weekend of recovery." Mara said. She didn't want to cause unnecessary worry.

"Yeah, you're probably right. If I hear from him, I'll definitely tell him he's got a concerned sister. It was nice to meet you." Joanna's smile seemed to glow. As Joanna turned to go, Mara responded with "Great to meet you too." And Joanna headed off to wherever the computer geeks went to do whatever they do.

She stood up and took one last look around Chris' area. Who knows what might be buried right on his desk in the form of notes and printouts that might be a lead to what happened. She looked at his phone and noticed it did not have the buttons to speed dial frequently called numbers like hers did. She noticed the trash bin was empty but as she turned around to leave saw there were what looked like some small, ripped open boxes in one corner. She peered at them for a moment and noticed that they were simply packing materials from a well-known computer vendor. Probably manuals or small parts.

As she rode the elevator back to the fourth floor, she pondered what she had learned. She didn't know what she expected to find. However, one thing for sure, it seemed from Joanna that no one else had heard from Chris either.

At the back of her mind something was bothering her about his cubicle but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Hopefully it would come to her later. Another thing she felt pretty certain about: Will wouldn't likely turn up any more information. Should she tell him that she had gone down and asked around for herself? Perhaps she should think more seriously about calling the police?

She Returned to her desk and pondered the situation.

*

Damian was smoking another cigarette. He seemed to be smoking more and more lately. He needed to break the grip the hideous things had on him, but couldn't just now. He confronted a smallish man with features that slightly resembled a caricature drawing of a weasel standing in front of him. Their meeting took place in an otherwise unoccupied conference room.

"Well?" Damian prodded. Who is she?

"Her name is Mara Chandler." Came the simple response.

"So? I want to know: Who she is? What do we know about her. Wait a minute, Chandler? She's a relative?"

"Yeah, It turns out this chick's the guy's sister."

"Just Great! Wait a minute. Maybe that's not so bad. Why wouldn't a concerned sister want to pop over to her sick brother's house to check up on him? It fits."

The small, weasel man just stood there. Damian began to pace, then said, "We need to find out what she knows. We don't want to grab her if she's just concerned about her brother and that's all. The less we do the better. Somehow we just need to convince her that he's really all right and she'll back off."

"There's one more little complication. She's an employee of Viiradium too." Replied the weasel.

"An employee! Of Viiradium! Oh Great! Wait, wait, that might be good too. It means we have even more control. Get the tech boys back in to sweep her computer. Put a tap on her office phone. It would be too drastic to tap her home phone, at least right now anyway. Find out what is available in her personnel records. While she's at work, check out her house or apartment or wherever she lives." After a moment's pause, he went on, "Well? Is that all?"

"Yes" said the weasel.

"Well I don't pay you to stand there – move! One more thing. Make sure she doesn't get the police involved!"

*

She had to weigh the facts. He was missing. No one knew where he was. Someone followed her last night after being at Chris' place. She could only assume the place was being watched. It all added up to be more concern that she was willing to neglect. She decided she would report it to the police. Probably the sooner the better.

She could wait for Will to come through, but even just a few minutes after meeting with him, she felt as if he was busy with his own day's activities and would put her request to check on her brother in the background – perhaps simply and innocently just forget about it altogether. So the police seemed the next likely place to turn.

Now the matter of what police to go to. The township had its own police department. Nothing like a major law enforcement agency like the Boston Metropolitan Police or the FBI or something. But she knew where the station was and it wasn't too far. She realized that it was after lunch and she hadn't gone for any food yet. Why not combine lunch with a quick trip to the police?

On her way to the police, she debated her lunch options. She knew that if she skipped lunch, she would pay later. On the other hand, how could someone think about eating when they were about to report a missing person to the police?

As she approached the police station, she recognized a small, street side, take-out deli. She pulled up and left her car at the curb. As she waited at the counter to be served, she thought about what she would tell the police. "Excuse me, my brother's missing". Or "I'd like to report a missing person..." She thought the best thing to do was simply ask how a person would go about reporting someone missing and let them direct her from there.

She ordered a tuna wrap and an apple with a bottle of juice, paid her bill and took her lunch back to the car. She had that odd paranoia feeling again that perhaps someone was watching her. How ridiculous, she thought. Last time was because someone was watching Chris' apartment and whoever followed her was simply someone sitting and watching his place. Were they waiting for him? Could Chris have gotten himself in some sort of trouble and he disappeared on his own?

As she pondered these thoughts she realized she was more hungry than she led herself to believe. She decided to use the public lot adjacent to the Police station to sit and have some of her lunch in the car. As she sat eating, she reviewed in her mind again her look around Chris' office "cubicle". Something definitely was nagging her about it but it just sort of dangled there, just out of the reach of the fingers of thought in the back of her mind.

She thought about all of the things that happened the past couple of days and tried to put them in the right sequence. She wished she had made a few notes so she wouldn't seem as if she was just some dizzy dingbat babbling on about her lost brother. She left a message early Tuesday at his place on his machine. Wednesday, not much happened. In fact nothing really happened, she simply wondered why he hadn't returned her call. At some point she sent the e-mail of her invitation to lunch. Let's see, was that Wednesday or Thursday. It probably didn't matter.

Thursday, she found out he called in – no, make that e-mailed in – the fact that he had the flu. Now that was odd, a sick person bothering to email when they could just pick up the phone.

Thursday night, she went to his place and let herself in. She didn't go poking around in any of his stuff looking for clues because at that point she didn't really consider him missing. She just felt there would be some obvious explanation.

Then she was followed.

That made things different. They followed her and when she lost them, they searched for her to try to pick up the trail again. Whoever "they" were. Was it someone else trying to find him? That might mean that he wanted to be missing.

Then it hit her. The thing that was nagging at the back of her mind. His phone! While it was not exactly the same as hers, it did have a message waiting indicator light which turns to blinking when a person has voice mail messages waiting. She recalled visiting his cubicle and she could picture his phone in her mind. His message waiting light was definitely not blinking. It was definitely off.

That would mean that he must have listened to his messages. That would mean that he must have received her messages. She knew that voice mail messages could be retrieved and listened to from anywhere, so he must have phoned in and picked up his messages. The logical conclusion then would be that he wanted to be missing. By going to the police, she might make it worse for him. For all she knew, the police might already be looking for him. She wondered why he didn't retrieve his messages from his answering machine at home? It was an old hand-me-down of a machine. More nostalgia than anything else with cell phones and on-line voice mail services. The model of machine he owned likely did not have such a feature to retrieve messages remotely. It probably meant that he knew enough to stay away from his place, especially in light of the fact that she was followed. Likely by someone trying to find out where he was.

Now she felt a little relief. He was probably OK physically. However, he was, apparently, in some sort of trouble. What could she do? Not much. Call mom again? Perhaps talk things over with Will. Forget the police for now. She decided to head back to the office.

She got back around three o'clock and set her mind to accomplishing at least a few of her tasks to keep up with the amount of work that seemed to be piling up. She decided to have a frank discussion with Will about what was going on with Chris. She knew that if she called his phone his pit-bull secretary would answer and try to fend off her call. He was likely not in his office anyway, so she accessed her voice mail and made the menu selection to create a new message. She recorded, "Will, it's Mara. I need to ask a personal favor. I have to talk to you about Chris. I've thought quite a bit about what might have happened to him and I need to talk it over with you to see if you have any ideas... Thanks, Bye."

She entered his extension as the intended recipient and sent the message. She knew he read his e-mail messages rather infrequently and his secretary had access to them. But voice mail he would listen to today, so hopefully he would respond soon.

The end of the day approached with staggering slowness in spite of how busy she was keeping herself. Her mind kept drifting with worry to what might have become of him. At 4:38, the sound of her phone startled her back to reality. She noted from the Call-ID display that it was Will. She picked up the phone and answered, "Hello, this is Mara." She decided not to act like she knew it was him just in case it was really his secretary calling back using his phone.

"Hi Mara!" came the familiar voice. "I just wanted to get back to you about your brother."

"Thanks, you don't realize how distracted and jittery the whole thing's making me."

"Well, I wouldn't worry too much, I'm sure there's some sort of explanation. I have to see one of our Agency reps later tonight over a dinner meeting, but if you want, we could get together over a drink and discuss the whole thing."

She wanted to talk to someone, just to hear herself if anything. But she didn't want to start anything romantic. She wanted to be sure he understood their relationship was staying where it was: simply friends. Apparently he detected her hesitation and piped in, "Just couple of drinks where we can talk about Chris... nothing more. OK?"

She agreed and they decided to meet at a nearby familiar upscale establishment where people from Viiradium often stopped. If anyone saw her with him, she thought she could make sure their relationship looked strictly professional: Diligent subordinate going over issues with a senior manager over casual drinks after work.

On her way there, she collected he thoughts and put all the events in the right sequence. Her main theory was that he was in some sort of trouble. This from the fact that she was followed from his place, and even though he was missing, was still receiving his voice mail messages.

As she entered the establishment, she immediately caught sight of him. Evidently he too had just arrived as he was hanging his coat on one of the scattered coat hooks that accompanied many of the booths. She joined him at a booth and they ordered drinks, his a sweet Southern Comfort Manhattan and hers an exotic non-alcoholic frozen juice sort of thing.

After a bit of small talk about how well the company was doing, their drinks arrived. She began to relate her story to him. Some of the details were a review of what she told him that morning, others were new updates like the message wait indicator on his phone being off when she knew that at least she had left him messages. She concluded with her thought that he was missing because he was in some sort of trouble and intentionally disappeared.

Will responded with, "Wow, that's quite an idea. What kind of trouble could he possibly be into that would cause him to want to disappear? Would he be in trouble with gambling debts or drugs?"

She replied without hesitation, "In spite of the rebellion of his younger years, Chris has always valued his intelligence. He turned out to be sort of a reformed, neo-geek computer professional with a side order of complex math thrown in. He was never one to do drugs. He saw the folly of gambling because the very definition of 'gamble' means your statistical probability of winning are impracticably slim. The only trouble he ever found was a bit of 'educational' computer hacking with his campus buddies in school"

"Well, what do you think might have caused him to disappear then?"

"I don't know. I was wondering if he was working on anything at work that might have spelled trouble for him?"

With a startled look Will responded, "At Viiradium!? You mean like some sort of corporate espionage or something?"

"I don't know. I'm simply grasping at ideas. I was hoping you might have some thoughts. I just can't simply wait around and wonder."

"Well, I'll tell you what I can do. I don't know about his personal life. Perhaps it's some sort of a love triangle or something. Trying to avoid the wrath of an estranged ex-husband – I don't know. That's something you will have to check into. What I will do is find out exactly what he was working on at Viiradium. I'll determine if anything might be sensitive or especially worthy of any of our competitors interests. But I suspect that nothing out of the ordinary will turn up. You, on the other hand, need to check into the personal side. Talk to your mom again. Maybe he was seeing someone. Who knows, maybe he's trying to avoid creditors. Those are things you'll need to check into."

She thought about what he was saying and what he offered. It seemed reasonable. After all, she supposed there could be many different reasons why a person might want to lay low for a while. It made her feel comfortable that he would check into the work side of things – find out what Chris was doing, if anything he was working on could be sensitive.

She agreed, "OK. That sounds alright. I'll see what I can find out about his personal side while you check into his projects at the office. I really appreciate it Will. It certainly is better than sitting around doing nothing. The whole thing has me rather worried. Thanks a lot for being willing to listen and to help me out. I owe you one!" She thought she better stop before he decided to take advantage of her gratitude.

"No problem. As soon as I hear anything, I'll let you know. Likewise, if you find out where he's gone to, drop me a message or something."

After a moment's silence, he made an offer of another drink. She politely declined and began making indication she was ready to go. He gave her an appreciative look and reached out and took her hand. She felt a little apprehensive because she knew anything they had in the past was over. But at the same time his familiar, gentle caress was a happy reminder of the good, if brief, time they did spend together.

"I know you're a little wound up about this. Don't worry" he assured her "Things will work out fine."

She thanked him again and got up to retrieve her coat. He stood and lifted her coat from the nearby hook and offered gentlemanly assistance. She turned and left him to pay the bill for the drinks. At the door she looked back and noticed him watching her. She gave a little wave, which he returned as she exited through the door.

Chapter 5

"I can't believe it!' moaned Howard 'Jet' Martin. "How could this be happening to us again?" Jet sat in a room full of corporate officers bemoaning the fact that another leak had occurred.

"The last time, they knew – no, they _published_ – our financial woes before we announced anything. Now this!" The room full of executives eyed each other suspiciously and tried to look indignantly at whatever they were looking at. In reality, each was a little scared. Not scared of Jet. Yes, he could be prickly at times and was known for spitting fire and getting results, but he was pretty level headed and fair overall. What was scary was the fact that there did appear to be a leak from somewhere within their ranks. Someone in this room that they thought they trusted was likely a traitor.

"I want to know how this got out!" Jet demanded. He stared at the chief operations officer seemingly expecting her to answer. Jill Bennet was a trim and outwardly friendly executive. One of the prestigious class of women who had made it in corporate America. Public relations did fall under her responsibility and she was quite familiar with many of the industry press representatives.

"I talked with several of my sources and the news apparently came from BioGen – again..." she trailed off.

"Come on Jill! How could someone from BioGen know! Someone must be feeding them information. The kind of information they are getting is pretty high level stuff. That means that it must be stuff coming from this room. That means..." he paused as he looked around the room, "quite likely someone here is responsible." Most of the others looked anywhere but at Jet. Most looked at the floor.

Jet went on, "I understand... Perhaps you might have mentioned something to someone you thought you could trust. Maybe a buddy you were out golfing with. Maybe your wives – who knows. They tell somebody else, and Wham! It gets back to our competitor. But after the last time? I thought we were going to be tightlipped! No one would discuss any of this outside of this room except to each other! What's going on?"

There was an awkward pause where nobody said anything. "OK... Jill? I want to know who is feeding information to BioGen. Do whatever it takes: Squeeze some of your contacts – bribe them if you have to. Hire an investigator – I don't care, just find out how this information is getting out. I can tell all of you now, somebody's head is going to roll. We had an agenda to go over today, but in lieu of this most recent development, we instead need to concentrate our efforts in damage control. I want some ideas on how we can control this thing. We need to consider our options and re-assemble at 3:00 today."

There were a few looks of disappointment from several of group. Jet continued, "Steve, Molly, I know you had plans on flying back to Phoenix tonight, but you better plan on sticking around an extra night. I know you guys from Atlanta need to get back too, but it will have to wait. I need everybody here to help address this. I think you all know what you have to do, see everyone at 3:00."

Jet stood, collected some printouts he had brought with him and strode through the exit. Very shortly, the conversations began and grew in intensity until the sound from the room was a dull roar of heated conversation.

The team of executives of Talicor argued and discussed their situation. Only three weeks ago, BioGen, a Talicor competitor in the multi billion dollar generic drug market, had somehow been responsible for publishing details of the financial situation of Talicor in a national trade journal. Details which turned out to be pretty accurate but were made worse by the negative spin inferred by the article.

Now this report on details of Talicor's business, including an announcement of its intention to shift some of its focus away from generic or "copy cat" drugs and to begin extending its new drug development by acquiring a small bio – engineering company that specialized in recombinant genetic techniques. This held out a lot of promise internally as a way to boost profits back to a respectable level appreciated by shareholders. The Generic drug industry was fiercely competitive. Typically the development cost of new drugs put even more drain on any potential profits, so companies like Talicor and BioGen stayed away from new drugs and focused themselves on high volume generics. The report was again written with a negative spin. It likened the merger to a potato chip producer trying to buy its way into the fine wine market. Overall, it made Talicor look cheap and, in contrast, praised some of the recent similar efforts by BioGen.

What was really upsetting is that someone, no doubt, was benefiting immensely from this. Talicor's stock took another beating in the market. Their competitors, most notably BioGen, were doing much better. Aparently certain shareholders of certain stocks would benefit, but even more so the person who was leaking the information was quite likely profiting. Either from direct bribes or by having money in the right place at the right time. Actually, it was rather amazing how much money a little tidbit of information such as this could be worth to the right person...

*

"We've got the whole weekend. We will go through her computer files, and review her e-mail messages. If she has had any contact with him from her office we'll find out about it soon enough."

Red, who was on the other end of the line responded, "I don't want to grab her if we don't need to. We already have enough of a 'containment' problem. On the other hand, if there is any suspicion that she knows anything, especially anything that might make her talk to someone or go to the police, we need to bring her in... we just can't risk it."

The first man continued, "It looks like she's just a concerned big sister. Eventually though, she is going to go to the police if we just let her go on worrying. I don't see how we can stop it, so I don't see why we should wait. Let's bring her in now before she talks to anyone."

"But once we grab her, then the mother will want to know what's going on, then other people we knew nothing about and... the hole just keeps getting bigger." Red replied.

"Yeah, but we don't need her for anything, we just want to shut her up. We could make it look like an accident. Then everyone she knows will simply mourn her loss, cry a few tears, but things go on and nobody looks any further. It was simply an accident."

"I'll consider it, but we're not in the business of killing people. First I want to know what you find out. Call me as soon as your guys are done with their investigation. Then we can decide how we're going to handle this. Besides, there may be a way we can use her."

*

Another lousy night. She felt helpless not knowing what to do. When she talked to Will, things seemed "reasonable". But now, she didn't know just what to do. Sure, there might be a lot of reasons why someone would want to hide, but not Chris. He wasn't one to get into significant money trouble. She couldn't imagine him in some kind of a love triangle. Criminal activity? She loved her brother dearly, but he was a geek! She couldn't imagine him getting into trouble with the law and having to hide out.

Perhaps another call to Mom. Maybe Will was right. A discussion would help them to sort of brainstorm together and come up with a solution. On the other hand, perhaps it would just worry her mother because, if Mara didn't know how to find Chris, it was very unlikely that her mother would. She would probably just cause her mother unnecessary worry thinking about what could have happened to him. If mom had heard from Chris, she would no doubt have called Mara knowing how worried she would be after their conversation the other night.

If Chris was just lying low for some reason, he would let Mara know about it soon enough. Perhaps something would turn up on Will's end with regard to whatever Chris was working on at work. She needed to get involved in some activities to get her mind off the situation. Enjoy a good meal, get some needed rest, maybe go into work on Saturday. It would be much quieter on a weekend. She would be able to catch up on a lot of work she was falling behind on without constant meetings and interruptions.

She ate at home that night. She paid some bills that would soon be overdue. She did some tidying up around the apartment and pulled out a novel she bought a couple of weeks ago but never had a spare moment to pick up again. She changed into more comfortable bed clothes and curled up on the couch with her book. The next thing she realized was that it was sometime after Six AM on a drizzly, gloomy Saturday morning. Apparently, she must have been exhausted to have slept so soundly on the couch. Her book lay nearby on the floor, her reading lamp still on.

She felt pretty good for a change with some lingering worry that would no doubt grow if she didn't keep herself busy. She was quite hungry, so instead of showering first, she decided breakfast would be the best way to start the day. She feasted on some yogurt and melons while trying to find something newsworthy to watch on TV. It was amazing how early all the channels showed cartoons first thing on Saturday morning. The news channels were mostly talk shows.

She didn't feel like going out for a run in the rain, so she took a long hot shower and put some thought to organizing her trip to the office. There was quite a bit of catching up to do, so she would be pretty busy.

She finished getting dressed in a casual set of jeans and a sweater, put on some makeup and fussed a bit with her hair. She was putting away the toothpaste and tooth brush when the sharp burst of ringtone from her cell phone just about sent her through the roof. She realized then that she was a little more uptight than she had originally believed. Her first thought was that it might be Chris, so she quickly inspected the phone display to discover that it was her mother. She Answered with apprehension.

"Mom, it's not quite eight yet on a Saturday! Is everything OK?"

"I don't know, I was just wondering if you might have heard from Chris yet..."

Mara paused for a moment as she reflected on her reasons for not passing on all her concerns about Chris to her mother. If she was calling Mara now, she must be starting to worry and Mara didn't want to make things worse. So she tried to put her mother at ease by describing her ideas about Chris just wanting to sort of 'lie low' for a while until whatever he was into passed. Mara was consoling and understanding yet blended this with an appropriate amount of concern herself. It was amazing what all that corporate public relations training could do for a person.

After hanging up, she noticed her reading lamp by the couch was still on, so she turned it off and opened the shades the rest of the way and looked out and down at the soaked streets. An ugly and quiet early Saturday morning in the rain. She noticed a dark blue van was parked directly in front of the fire hydrant on the other side of the street. What did he think? The cops wouldn't give out tickets on a Saturday in the rain?

She turned and retrieved her overcoat and purse. On the way out the door she caught a glimpse of the medicine cabinet through the open bathroom door. She noticed with some amusement that in her rush to grab the phone, she managed to toss in the toothpaste and toothbrush, but she didn't swing the cabinet door shut all the way. No matter, she would get it later. She breezed out the door, made extra sure the apartment door was securely locked and made her way down to the back lot to fetch her car.

On the drive to the office, her mind began to drift again and anxious thoughts of concern began to plague her. She turned on the radio and poked the buttons looking for just about anything that wasn't playing commercials. She paused at a red light and noticed the familiar shape of a dark blue van two or three cars back. If it weren't for the curve of the road behind her she never would have noticed it. Could it really be the same van she notice parked by the fire hydrant outside her building?

This only served to heighten her anxiety another notch. It could be the van was simply going the same way and itwas no big deal. After being followed the other night, she was just being oversensitive to people following her. She hadn't noticed the light change and the car behind honked the horn to remind her to pay attention to her driving. As she accelerated, the road widened into two lanes as she approached the congestion of the office park with its associated strip malls and such. She decided to stay to the right and go a little unreasonably slow. Most cars simply signaled and passed in the left lane. The van, however, seemed to match her pace and purposely stay back even farther.

As she approached her turn down the street which led across the back parking lot of the office complex, she sped up and made a right as the light went yellow. She studied the mirror as the intersection fell away behind her, but the blue van managed to make a right on red and continue "pursuit". She pulled into the lot, showed her ID badge to the guard at the entrance and proceeded to a spot near the building. The guard station was usually manned on evenings and it was still early enough that he had not gone off duty yet. Plus, the schedule was probably different on Saturdays anyway.

From her spot she could see the van cruise past the entrance to the lot. The windows only revealed shadowy figures in the two front seats. She realized that her heart was pounding fiercely from anxiety and took a moment to breathe and calm down.

One could say that the van was different than the one parked by her building. One could also say that the van just happened to be travelling to a destination along the same path she took to work. Perhaps they were going extra slow simply because of the rainy conditions. But with the events so far, especially her being followed the other night, the facts led her to the conclusion that she was followed again.

That led to the next logical question: Why? Was she simply under surveillance so that someone looking for Chris might find him because Mara would lead them to him? If this "someone" were willing to spend the effort and cost of keeping her under surveillance, then that "someone" must want to find Chris pretty bad. And if that "someone" were the police, why not simply bring her in for questioning and use the usual police tactics employed to find a wanted person? This would mean that it was unlikely that the police were looking for him. Now she felt more motivated to go to the police herself. After all, if this someone would follow her, they could even be a threat if they got more desperate. She could be in some sort of danger herself.

She grabbed her purse, locked her car and headed for the employee entrance. As she approached, she glanced around surreptitiously looking among the landscaping and for signs of the blue van or of any surveillance activity. She felt safe once her security badge allowed her to enter the building.

As she rode the elevator to the fourth floor, she contemplated what to do next. She had great plans for getting caught up on work, but also could feel that adrenaline induced trembling still running through her system. Clear, calm thinking would be difficult.

She approached her desk and immediately felt alert. A warning bell had gone off somewhere in the back of her mind. She was pretty particular about her workspace and it sure seemed that someone had made some adjustments to the position of her desktop office equipment. The reach of her phone and computer keyboard were optimum for her work style and she was pretty fussy about it.

Calm down, she told herself. It was Saturday and someone probably just sat to use her phone momentarily. Perhaps the janitorial staff did some extra cleaning. She was obviously experiencing the hypersensitive jitters of extreme anxiety. She sat down and again considered contacting the police. She was here now, so it would be wise to take advantage of that fact and try to catch up on a couple of things. Her message wait light on her phone indicated no new messages. That was good. She began the startup process for her desktop computer and was surprised when it asked for both her ID and password. Typically, her ID was already shown as the user logging on to the corporate network and she only had to supply her password. She logged on without any trouble, it just seemed funny. Could someone have used her phone and her desktop computer?

She took a quick look at her files in the computer and noted that everything seemed as it should. The thought of someone else using her things annoyed her to some degree, but nothing seemed wrong.

She went to get herself a cup of coffee and figured she would probably need to make some since it was a weekend. However, as she made her was to the coffee break counter, she noted that a fair number of people from other departments were in. She was glad to find coffee already made.

Back at her desk, she began catching up on some unfinished work from the previous week and started preparing for the upcoming week's activities. She needed to get a message to several of her staff members about the communication plans for a new policy manual to the employee masses in general so she decided she would leave them a voice mail message. She felt the project was getting a little delayed so she didn't want it getting lost among the sometimes uncontrolled tide of email, so she would record one voicemail and then use the voicemail system to address the message to several staff members. As she accessed the voice mail menus through the prompts of the automated telephone voice, she was surprised she had more old messages saved there than she thought. She couldn't remember what they were, so she decided to listen to them again to make sure she didn't need to follow up on something immediately.

The last two messages were messages that she swore she never heard before. They were not that important, one from a salesperson of an information management company and one from one of her staff members just getting back to Mara with the answer to a question that came up earlier that week. But if they were new messages, why did the system not prompt her to hear new un-played messages? Why was her message wait light not blinking?

Could the person who sat at her desk, used her phone, likely used her computer have somehow accessed her voicemail messages? That really shouldn't be possible since they would need her PIN number to log in to the voicemail system as her.

She sat back to consider the situation. Her brother's whereabouts: unknown. From the facts, it at first seemed as though he was staying out of sight on purpose. This from the fact that she was followed from his apartment the other night. It would seem to indicate someone staking out his place waiting for something to happen. She happened, so they followed her to see where she might lead them.

Being followed today though put a new twist on things. Why would someone have her under surveillance? Parked outside her place? Following her to the office? Now the fact that someone from inside apparently sat at her desk, could very well used her computer and perhaps was able to tamper with her voicemail. Was Viiradium somehow involved with what happened to Chris?

She felt safe, secure, entering the building before. But now, she felt exposed sitting there. In all of this, why hadn't Chris tried to contact her? Perhaps he did and she missed it? She turned back to her computer screen and opened her email in tray. Nothing new that was important. Nothing from Chris. She poked around in some of her email folders with the mouse not knowing what she was looking for while trying to think of what might have happened. She even inspected her 'deleted' folder, but noted that only messages that she deleted yesterday were in there. If a message from Chris did come in though, she definitely wouldn't have deleted it. She thought of the odd 'anonymous' message she received the other day and wished she had actually read it before deleting it. In retrospect, it seemed like a good way for someone proficient in computers and networking to get an unnoticed message through to someone else.

If he was in trouble, couldn't he go to the police? Her fear and anxiety grew as she grappled with the realization that he could be unable to do anything. He could be dead.

She began to feel helpless. She began to understand what people meant when they say they felt 'hollow' when struck by a tragic loss. The only thing she could do was go to the police.

She shutdown her computer and grabbed her coat and purse. As she walked briskly to the elevator, it stuck her that she may be in more danger than she realized. Especially if Chris were harmed and now someone was after her. At least watching her. Someone with access to her employer. In fact, likely someone at her employer. If she were being watched, how could she get to the police without being noticed?

As she approached the exit to the parking lot, she could hear the rush of a downpour going on outside. Great. The rain had really picked up and she had no umbrella. She dashed outside and ran to her car which was parked beyond the reserved and visitor parking spaces. That was stupid. It was Saturday, who cares about visitor parking? As she approached her car, she realized her keys were still in her purse. She pulled her coat up over her head to afford a little protection from the drowning rain to fumble for the keys. She realized she must have looked quite stupid, but who cared about looks while standing in a downpour. By the time she got in and got the door shut, she was completely soaked and cold.

She needed to get home to get a dry change of clothes before going to the police. While she was at it, she would be sure not to forget her umbrella. On the drive, she would develop a plan to get from her place to the police without being followed or watched. On the drive back, she kept a watchful eye out for any 'suspicious' vehicles. No blue van, no red Taurus. No car that seemed to 'reappear' frequently.

After parking in the lot behind her building she ran in and up the stairs. She quickly unlocked the door and swept inside. She made sure the door was locked securely. She took off her coat and dumped her purse. She figured her mascara was probably a mess so she popped into the bathroom to fix it up.

She flipped on the light switch and looked in the mirror. She felt a sudden chill run up her spine. More than just a chill, the fear flushed her ears red and her heart began a brutal beat. It wasn't so much what she saw in the mirror, it was simply the fact that the mirror, which made up the door of the medicine cabinet, was fully closed. She distinctly remembered noticing that she left it partially open in her rush to answer the phone earlier. She knew its hinges were a little worn and didn't swing easily thus, it could not possibly have closed by itself.

Someone must have been here. In fact, that someone could still be here! She hadn't been gone to the office for that long. She came right from the entry door to the adjacent bathroom without going through the rest of the apartment. Someone could have easily been caught off guard by her unexpected arrival and simply found a quick spot to hide inside. The kitchen? The bedroom?

Tears of fear welled up in her eyes as she spun to leave. She was too scared to even go into her bedroom to grab fresh clothes. She had to get out. She had to call the police. No, she wasn't even going to go into the other room to reach the phone. She wasn't going to stand there and fumble with her cell phone. She had to get to the police. She picked up her coat and purse. Forget the umbrella. She unlocked the door and exited, but still turned to carefully lock it behind her. She wasn't sure what good it would do since apparently the lock was overcome by the intruder with no obvious damage. Still, it seemed natural to leave things locked up.

She had to assume she was being watched. How would she get to the police unnoticed? Perhaps going to the police was a better idea than she had originally thought. It would provide her with a sense of safety and be a cause for prudence in her watchers as they would understand that she was suspicious of their surveillance.

On her way there, she began to feel a little embarrassed. She noticed in the rear view mirror that she looked like hell. Wet hair, makeup smeared, clothes soaked. She probably smelled like a wet dog. Oh well, she was going now. No way was she returning to her place not knowing if the intruder was still there or not.

She remained alert to every car around her. Without being paranoid and imagining things, she studied everything looking for signs of pursuit. She tried to think of what she would say once she got there. Some of the parts of her story were pretty odd, even to her – like the fact that Chris' secretary said he "sent a message" to say he had the flu. If someone had hurt Chris or even worse, killed him, then pretending to be Chris by email would be easier than phoning in sick to someone who would obviously recognize from the voice that it wasn't really Chris.

Of perhaps there was no email at all, simply the fact that Corrine was 'covering' for someone and just saying Chris was home with the flu, or just used the phrase "sent a message" as a general description that could have been a phone call from Chris. The other things at the office seemed to indicate a stronger connection to Viiradium as well. Her voice mail being tampered with. Her computer. She wondered if Will was able to turn up anything. Since it was the weekend, she had her doubts.

She pulled into the same parking lot adjacent to the municipal building where she stopped and ate lunch the other day. In fact wasn't it just yesterday? That was hard to believe. She got out of her car and locked it. The rain had let up quite a bit but it would still have been nice to have an umbrella.

She ascended the steps of the building and noted in the dim reflection of the full length glass of the door that she looked somewhat like she just crawled out of a storm drain.

Inside the building was a small foyer which led to various municipal offices. She entered the double door for the Bedford Police and approached a reception counter. A uniformed police officer at file cabinet turned and tried to hide his obvious double take. He quickly advanced toward the counter with a smile and asked, "May I help you?"

"I'd like to report a missing person..." Mara said tentatively. She was still quite wound up over the earlier events and the added stress of coming to the police even on a good day to report the disappearance of a loved one just made her tremble all the more.

"Come on in and we will take care of you", he invited. He swung a gate open and gestured for her to enter. Then he led the way to a small, sparsely furnished room with a table and three plain chairs. He indicated a chair and she sat. He excused himself and said someone will be back in just a moment to help.

As she sat there she tried to collect her thoughts. She sat thinking of some of the likely questions they would have: Let's see... when did she last have contact with her brother, why did she think he was missing, has he ever 'disappeared' before, why would someone want to harm him, and so on.

The same police officer came back in and sat across from her. "May I offer you a drink? Something hot perhaps? Coffee?"

"No, thank you." The way her nervous stomach felt, Food or drink would not stay down for long.

"OK then. My name is officer Jenkins. I would like to hear your statement and take some notes if you don't mind. Reporting missing people is pretty serious if the disappearance is valid. Typically we would have two officers here, but with the lousy weather, we're a little short staffed. So, please feel comfortable. Tell me who's missing and don't mind me taking a few notes."

She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. She knew she probably looked a little wild and hoped he would not think she was a lunatic raving about a claim of someone who was not missing but knew perfectly well where they were.

"It's my brother..." She began. Then she related the cold facts as best she could. She thought she did quite well presenting herself as a serious, credible, concerned family member able to lay out in a logical flow the circumstances of the past few days.

At this point she only related the facts with regard to her brother and left out the suspicious events such as the fact that he emailed in sick rather than called. And that his message wait light indicated he, or someone, had retrieved his messages. And the fact that she was followed – twice now. And the suspicion that her phone and computer at work were tampered with. And the fact that someone was in her apartment.

She paused to think for a moment about her story. Officer Jenkins was making a few notes using only the bottom half of the sheet of paper. "Let me ask a few questions..." he said. "Could I get your name?"

She suddenly felt foolish. A moment ago, she thought she did a pretty good job but realized how inept she must have looked not even supplying her own name or address. In fact, she didn't even relate much about Chris except the circumstances around his disappearance. She looked up and caught officer Jenkins giving her a long look. She suddenly felt even more self-conscious about her appearance with him looking at her. She wondered what he must be thinking of her. He judged him to be in his late forties, blond, trim and she noted no wedding band. No gun either. Probably some policy about not wearing firearms in the office.

She continued with some of the more minor details: her name, address, phone and some more information about Viiradium. She noted that he began putting these details on the upper half of his note sheet. She supposed he was probably used to taking statements from people and knew enough about how best to organize the facts to help begin an investigation.

"Now I would like to ask some specific questions about your brother if you don't mind" he said. "Why do you think your brother is missing and not just away without letting someone know?"

"Well, we don't talk every day, but it's pretty unusual for him not to return any of my messages. We typically get together about once per week and he would tell me if he was going to go away or take a trip or something." She continued on, "I actually was thinking he was simply away, but out of concern, I went to his place the other night, as I mentioned, and he wasn't there and it looked like he hadn't been there. After I left, I'm sure I was followed. I know that sounds like something out of a movie, but I'm sure because I darted into a parking garage at West View Mall and watched as they pulled in and paused to look for where I had gone."

"So, you feel like something suspicious is happening?"

"Yeah, I guess it really spooked me so I began to think that this was more serious. Then more time went by and I still hadn't heard anything from him."

"Did you happen to get the license tag number or the make of car that followed you?"

"I know it was a dark red Taurus sedan and I could make out part of the tag number. I made mental note of it, but in the tension of the moment, I didn't write it down and now I'd forgotten. I do remember that it was a Massachusetts tag though."

"Why do you think someone would have followed you from your brother's place?"

"I don't know, isn't that what the police are for? To find out why someone would be following me or looking for him?"

"Well, I'm just wondering if you may know of some reason why someone might be there apparently watching his place and then follow you? I only ask because I need as much information you can give including any insights that might help us to begin an investigation."

She felt embarrassed about being so rude. After all, he was right, they had even less information than she did and they needed all the details they could get if they were going to find him. She wondered for a moment about telling him the rest of the reasons she was scared. She didn't want to seem paranoid, but she did want them to be able to find her brother.

She plunged on, "There is some more. I don't want to seem paranoid, but I left him some voice mail messages myself, yet, when I stopped by his office to see if anyone had seen him or knew where he might be, I noted that his message wait light was off. Apparently, someone retrieved his messages. And the fact that he didn't call into work, but simply sent in a message from home. He loves working, loves his job, keeps in touch with the people in his department, it would be easier to just pick up the phone and call.

"Then, this morning, a van parked outside my place followed me to the office."

"You went to the office on a Saturday? Is that normal for you?"

"No, I just thought I could get caught up on some things. I was getting behind and thought a day at the office with no distractions would allow me to catch up. When I got to work this morning, I discovered that someone tampered with my telephone and computer as well."

"Tampered?"

"Well, there were messages that I had never heard before, and yet, the system said I had no new messages. Plus, someone else had logged in or at least tried to log in from my computer. I only know this because when you log in, the computer shows your name or whatever was the last login name used. You only need supply the password. Today, I was prompted for both a user name and a password."

"I'm no expert in the equipment your company uses, so who knows? Perhaps those were glitches in the system? Can you give me any more details on the person following you today? License? Make of auto?"

"No, just a dark blue van."

"How do you know the van just didn't happen to take the same route you did to get wherever they were going?"

"Well, I don't. Just that with everything else that's happened, it just seemed a little too out of the ordinary to be simply coincidence."

"Are there any other details you can give me?"

"One more. This is the thing that really scared me and the reason I came here now without changing first. As I hurried out this morning, I noticed as I passed through the door of my place that I had left the door of the medicine cabinet open. I only happened to notice because the reflection in the mirror was different and just caught my eye. I realized I must have left it open in my haste to answer the phone. My mother called me this morning to see if I had heard anything from Chris. It seems she is pretty worried too. Anyway, it's a little funny because I consider myself such a neat freak. But I was in a hurry and made a mental note to just close it later when I returned. I paid more than the usual attention to locking the door to my apartment because I was feeling anxious about all this. Well, after I discovered my office was tampered with, I couldn't concentrate on work and decided to leave. I got caught in that downpour and got really soaked. I thought I better go home and get changed.

"I had forgotten completely about the mirror being open on the cabinet door until I walked into the bathroom to look at the mess my makeup was probably in. It dawned on me as I walked into the bathroom that somehow the mirror became closed. This could only have happened if someone else was in my place looking around. They probably swung the mirror all the way open as they looked inside for whatever they were searching for and then simply closed it when they were finished not realizing it was not paying attention to the fact that it wasn't closed to begin with. The fact that the place was evidently searched really scared me on top of everything else. I didn't even bother going into the rest of my apartment. I spun around, locked the place back up and drove straight here..."

She finished her account of the story and sat, huddled and still trembling a bit in the chair. She couldn't think of anything else to say, so she just looked at him as he completed some of his notes.

"This keeps getting more involved by the minute." He said. "Is there any more to the story?"

"No, that's all I can think of for now. I don't mind telling you though, I am not going back to my place until someone goes in first to check the place out!"

"Well I thank you Ms. Chandler for your report. And I can appreciate your concern. Again, we take reports of missing persons quite seriously if they seem legitimate. Sure you won't take something warm to drink? You look like you could use one."

A hot cup of coffee sounded pretty good right now. Since she was able to tell her story, her apprehension decreased a degree and realized that her wet clothes were making her feel quite chilled. "I wouldn't mind a hot coffee..."

"No problem. What do you take in it?"

She told him and he excused himself to get her some. She went back over the story in her mind to see if she could think of anything she might have left out. She found it pretty hard to read his reaction. She hoped he took her seriously enough to investigate. His comment on treating missing persons seriously if they seemed 'legitimate' made her a little nervous. Did he think her report was 'legitimate'? He returned shortly with her coffee and excused himself again, saying he would be back in a few moments.

She could hear him talking in the distance in the outer room, but heard no one else, so she figured he must have been on the phone with someone. She began to feel a little apprehensive about the reaction of the police. Would they at least check out her place to be sure it was safe to return? Would they think there was enough credibility to the facts to begin an investigation?

He returned after a while and explained there would be a police car dispatched to meet her at her apartment. They would be waiting on the street for her.

"Here is my card" he said as he offered a card with the logo of the Bedford police and the name Sargent 'Randall Jenkins' and phone number. "Call me if you think of any more details. I will be filling out a formal report and going over your statement with one of our detectives Monday. They will likely want to talk to you, so what might be the best way to reach you?"

She fumbled through her purse for her business card. "Here is my business card, let me put my cell number on the back. You already have the number and address at home from before, but I will put it here so it's convenient." She jotted her number down and handed it over.

She thanked him as she left to return to her apartment. The drive home was tensely demanding though uneventful. Did "they" know she had gone to the police? Were they watching her? Would they leave her alone now?

She found the Bedford patrol car parked outside her building as she pulled up. Rather than pulling around to the off street parking, she found a spot at the curb not far from where it was parked. As she approached the police car on foot, two officers emerged. One lanky red haired fellow and another surprisingly short blond woman – at least short for her impression of police officers, however, she was taller than Mara herself.

The police woman, 'J. Blake' from the name pinned to her uniform, approached with a smile and an outstretched hand. "Hello, are you Ms. Chandler?"

"Yes, thank you for stopping by."

"We understand you may have fallen victim to a break in." J. Blake said.

"Yes, I was a little afraid to go back in 'til someone had a look. But I suppose that by now, if anyone has been in there, they would be long gone by now."

The red haired officer smiled and muttered a greeting but didn't Identify himself or appear to wear a similar ID pin. Mara noted that they both wore the typical belt of assorted police paraphernalia: Night stick, holstered pistol, mace, handcuffs and such. A holstered radio was evident on the male officer. She invited them in the main building and unlocked the entry door of her upstairs apartment.

"Has anyone seen any suspicious intruders in the area?" J. Blake asked.

"I didn't stick around to ask." Mara replied.

They went into her apartment and looked around checking from room to room. "Everything looks OK. Could you tell us if you notice anything missing or out of place?" The taller officer asked?

Mara, looking around responded, "Everything seems OK as far as I can tell. I know someone was in here sometime while I was away at work today. I might have scared them off when I come home early, but I was not about to go looking room to room and confront some armed villain. So I skipped out the back and went straight to the police."

J. Blake extended her arm and put a friendly hand on Mara's shoulder. "Everything seems fine. My name is Judy. My partner's name here is John. I'll leave you one of our cards. It has the local phone number for the police station sergeants desk as well as our emergency dispatch. You can also call 911. If you think of anything that might be important to tell us, just give us a call. We understand you have filed a missing persons report, so no doubt one of our detectives will be contacting you."

Judy gave a friendly smile as she turned to leave. "Thanks for checking the place out." Mara replied, "I don't mean to be a bother, but I really appreciate your help."

Mara realized that Judy wasn't all that much different than she. Perhaps a year or two older and not that much bigger. She wasn't afraid to just waltz into the unknown. Sure, she had a gun, but it wasn't drawn. She simply was more relaxed. Mara decided she needed to do the same. Relax.

Chapter 6

Winston Dellamore Taylor, one of two detectives of the Bedford Police, was reviewing the cases that were filed over the weekend. Fortunately with a name like his, the nickname of 'Dell' seemed to stick with him since childhood.

For a murder or kidnapping, they would probably call him or page him on a weekend case. However, that was pretty rare. Burglaries were the most common. And being generally non-violent in nature, could wait until the normal workweek began. Some of the suburbs were especially sought after by buglers because of the lure of better property to steal. More expensive stuff meant better fencing opportunities. Along with that however, came risks. The risk of being caught on home surveillance video, tripping an alarm system or in Dell's case, getting investigated by the Bedford police. They may be a small police department, but with less workload than many typical crime burdened urban police departments, they had a pretty high 'case solved' rate. He was pretty proud of their success.

"Haven't had a missing persons case in a while" Dell said to Randy who was going over the case reports filed during the weekend with him.

"I don't know if there's much to her story. She seemed pretty shook up, but a young fella like that could be anywhere and know perfectly well exactly where he is. I sent a patrol car to her place to check things out, but they came up clean. Once they had her settled in, they made a couple of inquiries of neighbors they could find at home, but nobody saw anything."

"What about some of these details? Being followed?"

"I think she's just extra anxious. Even the medicine cabinet door thing. It really had her spooked, but she's so jumpy, she may have closed it and not even realized it. Then latter, when she saw it, she just freaked out a bit and bolted."

"Yeah, but one thing really bothers me," Dell said, "Think back, oh, about eight months ago."

"Yeah, what about it?"

"This Chris Chandler isn't the first mathematician to disappear from that company..."

*

Monday, things were pretty hectic at Viiradium. First there was some extra security. It seems that a big government agency was visiting the place to have a look at some of the products Viiradium was producing. To coincide with this visit, The CEO of the company, Bob Danvers, was to make a formal announcement to all employees. The industry press members along with a few news reporters were there to take it all in. The rumors were that the announcement was simply going to be a summary of the financial success the company had enjoyed during the last fiscal year. Others were saying there was some sort of deal making going on with the government to provide security solutions to much of the government computing infrastructure.

Whatever the case, there was two guards at the main employee lot entrance and an additional guard posted at the employee building entrance. Mara just pinned her ID badge to her lapel (like she was supposed to) instead of fishing it out of her purse to show it to security people. She felt a little more comfortable with the extra security around even though it had nothing to do with her.

There was a lot to do that day. While Human resources wasn't directly responsible for public relations, they fell under the same upper management structure. So she was to be present during the morning divisional debriefing which she usually did not need to attend.

Throughout the day, she continued to be plagued with the nagging issue of her missing brother. She was comforted by yesterday's visit to the police. At least something was being done. She only hoped they were making some progress.

As the day wore on, her hoped kept her spirits inflated just enough and she was able to concentrate on her work. She took a break to attend the corporate chairman's announcement being piped into the employee lounges and lunch rooms as well as the conference rooms so that most of the people could find someplace to go where they could listen. The announcement was preceded by a lengthy introduction by Jack Thistle, the communications and public relations manager. Jack was well versed in security technology and Mara, even with little interest in mathematics, actually found the introduction sort of stimulating. Jack tried to put into simple layman's terms the importance of computer security and some of the potential benefits, even for the average consumer market: A cash-less society, an end to computer viruses, communication impervious to eavesdropping attempts, secure computer based trasactions and technologies impervious to computer hackers and such. And, of course, the important role Viiradium was playing as a central figure to the development of such technology. Why, already the cryptographic techniques developed at Viiradium had become sort of a world standard to allow secure communications between people and organizations.

After a round of hearty applause, the Chairman, Bob Danvers, was introduced. The Chairman and other corporate executives were actually resident in this building most of the time. However, they rarely emerged from the sixth floor executive wing to mingle with the working class. Nonetheless, the chairman was a well-respected by most of the company as a sharp yet fair business man who had the whit and skill needed to create the kind of success enjoyed by Viiradium. With that popularity and admirable reputation though, not much was really known about him personally except what you might find occasionally in an interview printed from time to time in the popular finance periodicals.

The announcement was mainly congratulatory and commended the entire organization for their diligent efforts to continue driving Viiradium along the forefront of the 'technology curve'. He briefly reviewed the results of the last fiscal year's financial figures which continued to exhibit double digit growth. He concluded with an announcement that there was indeed an important partnership forming between Viiradium and the federal government to create secure computer communication standards for strategic government use that were a degree stronger than those standards used by the commercial world.

She dined on a late lunch in the employee lounge and discovered her mind drifting back over the week's activities. That stupid e-mail from the anonymous sender that she deleted without even reading continued to harass her thoughts. She knew that there was a way to restore deleted messages because they had to do it on occasion when a disgruntled employee maliciously deleted all mail messages in their electronic in-box if they were being terminated. Now, the policy changed so that they would simply lock out the user from their e-mail before informing them of their employment termination.

After lunch she returned to her work area and made a call to the information systems operations department. "Operations, this is Vince," came the monotone response to her call.

"Oh, hi Vince. This is Mara Chandler in HR", she replied.

"What can I do for you?" It was particularly amazing how positively a person's attitude became affected when they found out they were talking to a Human Resources Supervisor. It's not like she could do anything about an individual's performance, but since all evaluations were routed and maintained by HR, many employees seemed to have a little more respect than normal.

"I was wondering if I could have someone's deleted e-mail messages restored?"

"Well it depends. If it was from more than a month ago, it goes out to archive. Archive restores require quite a bit of approval to get the go ahead for us to proceed."

"Nope, just last week", she responded.

"Usually Deleted messages are kept on the servers until the archive jobs run. So, there should be no problem. Who's mail are you looking for? We may have to 'reset' their password so you can get in?" He was apparently assuming HR needed access to a terminated employee's deleted mail.

In a slightly embarrassed tone she replied, "Actually, it's mine."

"Oh. Well I, don't know", he hesitated. "Usually we don't restore a user's own files, some sort of policy against it..." She could tell he felt a little remorse for not being in a position to fulfill her request.

Trying to persuade him was at least worth a crack. She choose the nonchalant approach: "Oh, it's just a couple of messages I deleted by accident the other day. I didn't realize I even deleted them until today when I looked. Then I remembered cleaning out some of my mail folders and realized I must have deleted a couple of messages I really needed along with the rest. Do you think you can you help me out?"

"Well, if you go through the normal procedure, you need to put in the request on the IT helpdesk internal web form. But the restore request does need your manager's approval. But since these are just your own deleted files I don't really see what the big deal is, so why don't I just restore them after the regular delete jobs run tonight."

"Great! Thanks a bunch. That really does help. How do I find them?"

"I'm here 'til ten tonight, so I'll schedule the restore last thing before I leave. All your deleted files from that night will be restored to your wastebasket folder. You will have tomorrow to pull out what you need. Then tomorrow night the regular nightly delete jobs run as usual and any files you leave in your wastebasket will be deleted again."

"That's fine! So tomorrow I will be able to just move what I need from the wastebasket to a file folder?"

"Right. I just need to be sure I've got your e-mail 'log in' name right and I need to know which day last week you deleted your messages."

She supplied the correct spelling of her e-mail login name and the day of the week in question so he could perform what he referred to as a "single user restore" operation. She hung up and let out a sigh of relief for cutting through the red tape, but it was short lived. She felt stupid for insisting on what was likely a dead end anyway. Probably some purveyor of 'net-porn' or get rich quick promotion. It was just a detail that irritated her, that's all.

Mara ended the day rather exhausted and she looked forward to just going home and sort of 'vegging out' in front of the TV. It was almost six by the time she tidied up her workspace, checked her voice mail (which seemed to be working fine now) one last time. She discovered a voice message from a 'Detective Taylor' at the Bedford police she received at 3:41 that afternoon. She was hopeful that they had something, but then realized that if they had, wouldn't it be Chris that called instead of the police? He left the main number of the Sergeants Desk and asked that she return his call. He wanted to talk about the missing persons report she had filed on Saturday.

Even though he would likely be gone, she decided to call back anyway. She dialed the number and waited. The phone was answered shortly with, "Bedford Police Department."

She asked for Detective Taylor and was informed that he had left for the day. She identified herself and indicated she was returning his call. The officer took a message including her home number and assured her the detective would receive it first thing in the morning. She hung up, collected her purse and coat and headed out.

On the drive home she still found herself a little apprehensive after the scare she suffered on Saturday. She couldn't help but keep a suspicious eye on the surrounding traffic as she made the trip back to her place. By the time she had arrived, it was well into the evening and quite dark. She pulled into the small off-street parking area in the back reserved for the tenants of the building and found only one available spot right at the end farthest from the building to pull into.

She grabbed her purse, got out of the car and locked it. Parked at the corner of the lot where the driveway entered was a dark, late model four door sedan. Sort of large – perhaps a Mercury? There appeared to be someone seated in the driver seat. Probably waiting to pick up someone from inside.

She walked away from the dark car and approached the entryway. The lot looked typical in the dim overhead lighting. Some bits of trash could be seen here and there, especially at the perimeter. Off to one corner was the pungent trash dumpster amidst a broken down fence that was meant to hide the eyesore but instead managed to attain its own "eyesore" status. She realized that she needed to get into a better neighborhood. This place was getting sort of 'tired' looking. She thought she saw movement in the shadows near the trash dumpster along the adjacent parked car. She paused momentarily to look again as she fumbled with her key ring to find the key for the upstairs door to her apartment.

The hair on her arms prickled as gooseflesh formed. It felt as if some instinctive proximity detector suddenly alarmed. A man materialized out of the shadows and approached her. Suddenly, she was all adrenaline. She turned to flee back to the relative safety of her car, but practically ran into another thug who had somehow appeared behind her. He was huge. At least in comparison to her.

She froze. Her feet simply didn't know what to do. She was between the two men. Her car lay beyond the larger man and her building lay beyond the other thug. She decided to split the difference and make a dash for the row of parked cars in front of her. Perhaps she could somehow make it back to her car and escape. Just has she tensed for the spring, the large one made a grab for her. Her yanked her by the shoulder of her coat and wrapped an arm around her pinning her arms down at the elbows with her back to him. He held her like a vice tight against his stomach. He made a little chuckle as he seemed to enjoy holding a soft young woman so close and firm.

The first man approached, "That's her alright. Put her in the car," he said. Out of desperation, not knowing what to do, she stomped down on the instep of the one who was holding her as hard as she could. Unprepared for the attack he momentarily loosened his grip with a howl of pain, anger and frustration. She twisted free and made a dash around behind him to the relative safety of the row of parked cars. But before she could get two steps away he lashed out with the right arm and grabbed a fist full of her hair.

He yanked her back and upwards toward him. The merciless pain instantly brought tears to her eyes and she let out an involuntary yelp. Instinctively, she reached up behind her head and grabbed onto his hand in an attempt to take some of the weight off her scalp. However this allowed him to wind his fingers in good and tight with more of her hair. He practically lifted her off the ground which caused her to begin to let out a scream. In an attempt to shut her up he shook her back a forth a little, like a rag doll. The pain nearly became unbearable. Her purse and keys went flying. Then with his free left hand smacked her hard with the open maul of his hand just below the rib cage driving the air from her. He flung her to the ground like a piece of trash with such force she felt like she was being dropped out of a tornado.

She slammed into the wet pavement on her right side and rolled a little onto her stomach. She lay there gasping, unable to recover her wind from the hard slap to her midsection. She began to fear for her life.

The first man said, "Listen you skinny little bitch! Shut your friggin mouth before you wake the natives!"

She couldn't be sure, but he seemed to have some sort of Euro accent. She continued to gasp for air as her breath slowly returned. The big one scooped her up and dragged her limp form to the waiting sedan. He opened the door and sort of shoveled her into the back seat. He bent over to start to get in himself and blocked any chance of escape. However, she wasn't going to take this abuse without a fight. She sort of scrambled across the back seat to the opposite door but as she reached for the handle to open it, the door swung open on its own. She looked up into the malicious grinning sneer of the first one. She still had her hand firmly on the arm handle of the door, but he blocked her escape. He put his open hand up in front of her to indicate she needed to settle down and get seated.

With his hand blocking her exit, he began to slowly close the back door. She saw her opportunity and yanked the door shut with a slam driven by all the force she could muster.

It Worked.

The unexpected move caught the man's hand in the door as it slammed with sort of a sickening brittle crunch. Amazingly, the door just sort of bounced back open again. But now, her captor was on his knees caressing his wrist and attempting to suppress the animal scream building up in his throat. From the spreading purple color, it was obviously quite broken. She scrambled out the door, kneeing him in the temple quite by accident as she skittered by and made a dash around the back of the car for the row of parked vehicles.

The large one, surprised by the resourceful attack on his partner by such a little bit of a girl, made the mistake of attempting to follow her same path out the same rear door instead of simply turning and getting out his own door. The extra delay gave her the time she needed to make an escape.

She stumbled for the refuge of the parked row of cars feeling like a terrified, hunted animal. She could hear the labored breath of the large one close behind. She sensed more than saw another one, third man, apparently the driver of their getaway transport, join the pursuit. She assumed with some pleasure that the one with the smashed hand was out of the race for a while. She weaved around as much as she could but found herself backed into the far corner of the lot eventually trapped behind the trash dumpster. The close stench of the foul remains of old waste felt like a hand over her mouth and she gasped for breath. There was the decaying fence around the dumpster itself and another fence separating the back lots of the building on the next block. There she was, pinned between the two fences with only one way out - the way she came in.

She was 'out of rope' as it were. No place to go. No place to hide. In moments they would be on her like hyenas in for the kill. Her heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of her chest. She tried to shallow her breathing so the sound wouldn't give away her position.

She heard the shuffle of feet as the two men closed in on her location by a process of elimination. Just then the muddy shadow of one of the figures fell across her only escape route...
Chapter 7

RipTide SoftWorks was in serious trouble again. They were working jointly with one of the big computer vendors to develop the technical specifications for the next generation of the popular 'visual' computer application creation tools. By collaborating over secure e-mail channels, teams within each company worked together to develop the next set of long awaited enhancements.

"Criminy! It's like they knew what we were thinking or something! How could they have beat us at this?", said Sivan Radshie. He was lamenting because another popular and successful computer software company had apparently been working independently on a remarkably similar project who was able to submit their specifications to the standards body first. If approved, the competitor would hold any entitlement to the expected windfall of copyright protected royalties.

RipTide was beaten. Again.

Jess Sanders replied with equal frustration, "It sure seems like an inside job. Did you see the pre-release of the spec? Their component object model handling is almost identical to what we had already written! Somebody on one of the teams must be a mole. It's the only thing that makes sense."

Sivan responded halfheartedly, "Well, we can just flush our jobs down the toilet now. We really needed this. Especially after the last screw up. I thought we had taken every precaution so that this couldn't happen to us again. Everyone on both teams was trusted. Hell, I can't even think of a single person I would suspect of leaking information like this. We were all betting on it. Somebody must have gotten bribed with one heck of a lot of money to turn this stuff over to our competitors."

"What about espionage?"

"You mean someone broke in and stole the material? Things are so tight around here that I sometimes have problems overcoming our own security just to access my own stuff! I just can't see how someone could simply waltz in and take what they want."

Jess lamented agreement, "Yeah, I agree. With digital certificates and authorization cards and encrypted files and such, I suppose someone would have a pretty tough time just stealing anything. I guess it would have to be an inside job."

"Well we've got twenty some top-notch programmers here. I suppose we could take on another project. Maybe we can just land a contract someplace, mind our own business and at least have jobs."

"Yeah, but you heard the boss talking about the risks they've taken to get this far. We're just plain financially overextended. This place will soon belong to the banks. I don't see any other way."

Sivan laughed, "hey look at the bright side, we're still young, we live in Silicon Valley and the type of work each of us does is a pretty hot commodity these days. Let them worry about how to go bankrupt. I say we abandon ship before the waters fill with hungry sharks!"

Jess replied, "I only want to know one thing. Somebody we know blew us apart by supplying our competitors with trade secrets. Who is it among us that we simply can't trust?"
Chapter 8

"Hello?" came the sleepy voice. He rubbed his eyes in the dim pre-dawn and tried to focus on the time display on the bed stand clock.

An incomprehensible woman was spewing something about accepting reverse charges. Over her voice he could hear another familiar, yet desperate sounding woman.

"Will! It's me, Mara!"

"Yes, I'll accept the charges..."

"Thank you." Replied the operator.

"Mara? What are you doing it's not even six a.m. yet?"

"Sorry Will, but I really need your help. Somebody was waiting for me at my place last night. They tried to make a grab for me and sort of beat me up a little. I got away but then spent the night hiding in the streets."

Instantly he was awake. His mind filled with a million questions. "Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance or anything?"

"No, just come and get me. I need to clean up, get a bite to eat and get warm!"

"Where are you? I'll be right there."

"About five blocks or so over from where my street is. It must be... Swan just past Central. I'm standing at a pay phone. My purse and cell phone went flying during the attack. I can see the big Lutheran church on Westwood from here."

"I know where you are. Sit tight. I should be there in about ten or fifteen minutes. Will you be alright 'til I get there?"

"Other than practically getting the crap kicked out of me and spending the last few hours running through the cold, I'm sure I can wait a few more minutes. I'm just trying to stay out of sight in case they're still looking for me. I would have called the police, but what I really need is someone that I know. Someone that will help."

"No problem, be there in a few minutes."

*

She sat huddled and shivering in the passenger seat of Will's car as he drove her back to his place. He glanced over at her small form and noticed a smear of blood along the bottom of her right cheek. A slightly fattened lip, probably the source of the blood. Scratches on her hands. Wet clothes. Overall, she didn't look too good at all. "Want to tell me what happened?"

She began haltingly to relate what happened. As she progressed, the tears began to flow and she had to fight the occasional sob. She explained how she eventually found herself trapped between the fences behind the trash dumpster. "I thought I was in for it. Here I just broke this guy's hand and humiliated the other one. I figured when they found me, they would be mad enough to kill me."

"How did you manage to escape!?"

Just then they pulled into his drive. "Let me get a hot shower and some food and I'll tell you about it." She stumbled out of the car and shuffled to the door. He held it open for her and she entered.

He led the way to the bathroom and left her while she showered. "I'll leave a bathrobe here for you to wrap up in when you come out," he called above the noise of the shower. He went to fix something for them to eat.

After a while she emerged, with wet hair, wrapped tightly in his bathrobe. She looked quite good for a person who had just spent the night in the streets on the run from potential kidnappers. He indicate a seat at the breakfast bar with a place setting of a warm English muffin, juice, coffee and some fresh fruit.

He began with an apology, "Sorry, I didn't really have much by way of breakfast food in the house."

"This is fine! I can't believe how good it feels to get out of wet clothes and get a hot shower."

It struck him as rather sensual to have this wet, attractive young woman, apparently nude under his bathrobe sitting in his kitchen. His thoughts began to wander a bit.

Between mouthfuls, she continued her story, "Just as I thought I was doomed, a phone rang. Must have been one of their cell phones. I think it was the guy with the broken hand because it sounded like he spent some time fumbling with it before he finally was able to answer. I tried to listen in a little, but I was more concerned with making my escape.

"In the moment of their distraction, I was able to wedge my foot into the space between some of the fencing that separated the back lots. I got up high enough to get my other leg over the top but then I found my shoe that I wedged, was firmly stuck between boards. I had to leave the shoe behind.

"I think I gouged my thigh a little on the top because it caused enough pain for me to lose my balance and flop over the other side. That's how I think I hit my face.

"Anyway, they must have heard me because one of them yelled out and they came charging to the fence. I skittered on my hands and knees to a sub-basement stairwell in the side of an adjacent building and cowered in the shadows.

"I heard them talking about not being able to see me any place. I guess the one guy was still on the phone because he was sounding like he was ending the conversation. Then bad luck again... They seem to have discovered my shoe, still wedged in the fence. He snarled some orders about not letting me get away. And that somebody was going to be very upset if they didn't find me and bring me in.

"I didn't stick around to listen. While they were talking and apparently receiving their orders and discussing my eventual capture, I made my way along the shadows to the front of the building. I finally rounded the corner and took off. I wanted as much space between me and them as I could get. Favoring the foot with the remaining shoe, I scurried across back lots and through hedges. I figured I needed to stay out of sight of the streets.

"Eventually I came across a car that didn't seem to be locked and let myself in the rear passenger door and just huddled on the floor. I don't know how long I sat there debating what to do. I couldn't go back to my place. Even if I could find it again – they might have someone posted there waiting for me. Calling the police was no good because without my cell phone they could easily spot someone openly standing at a public phone. Even though I was scared stiff, I guess I eventually dozed off. When I awoke, I wandered a bit until I found a phone and called you."

"Well, I'm certainly glad you're alright" Will said after looking at her for a few moments. "You know, there aren't all that many pay phones left anymore. Lucky you found one. You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need."

"Actually, I was wondering if you could lend me a set of sweat pants and a shirt and give me a lift home. I could use some of my clothes. In the struggle, my purse and keys went flying. I've got an extra set of car keys at home. I'll just need to get the building manager to let me in. He doesn't live there in the same building, so I will need to stop by his place to get a key."

She surprised herself with her calm resolve. She determined that she was going to get to the bottom of this one way or another. Somehow she was able to successfully incapacitate, at least to some degree, and evade three thugs set out on kidnapping her. Her. All 121 pounds of her. They must have been amateurs or it was simply providential that she escaped. Obviously, they must have had something to do with her brother's disappearance. Whoever 'they' are, they had the answers.

Somehow in all this, Viiradium was involved. Since her phone and computer were evidently 'examined' there had to be someone at the company who knew what was happening. The problem was though, that same someone was likely dangerous. She wondered what Will discovered through his inquiry to Chris' department managers. He didn't say anything about it, so she supposed he didn't have any new information.

He was a member of senior management, perhaps she should tell him of the episodes of apparently unauthorized voicemail access as well as her computer being tampered with. How would he react? Was the company involved in some sort of cover up? She decided to tell him some more and judge from his reaction how to proceed.

After she finished eating, she began again, tentatively at first, "Will, I've got something else to run by you."

"What is it?"

"Well, some funny things have been happening at Veriduim and I think that those things might have something to do with the disappearance of Chris," She said.

In somewhat of a defensive tone he responded, "Oh, really?"

She had to realize she was talking to one of the corporate executive vice presidents here and she didn't want to damage the trust she felt in her relationship by seeming to put blame on Viiradium for what happened to Chris. She gingerly explained the circumstances of the voice mail tampering. That even though she left messages for Chris, his message wait light indicated no new messages when she stopped by his work area before. And the funny thing about her own messages – the fact that she had received new messages – ones that she was positive were new only because she had never heard them before – yet the system treated them like they were already heard and kept. It was almost as if someone else had listened to her messages.

The irregular behavior of her computer was curious too. You couldn't gain access to a desktop computer's files in the company without first successfully logging on to the network. That was the way they were set up. Did someone else log onto her desktop computer just to snoop through the contents of files that were stored in her PC? Look through her email? Couldn't they do that remotely with no reason to use her computer?

After she explained all of this, Will thought about what she said for a moment and said, "There could be any number of explanations that might cause those conditions. Maintenance on the voicemail system for example. Maybe Chris is not really missing at all and called in himself to retrieve his own messages. Perhaps someone needed access to information on the network and your machine was unused and thus available. Certainly against our corporate information usage policies, but hardly a link to the disappearance of Chris."

"I know what you mean. In fact, my first thought was the same – Chris must have called in. And I'll admit, there certainly could be valid explanations for the things that happened to our messages and computers or whatever. But then to be followed to work, and stalked to the point of kidnap simply made me try to tie everything together. First, Chris was an employee there. He's evidently missing. It could be because of something to do with Viiradium, maybe not.

"Then me being followed, three times now, since going to Chris' apartment. Then someone evidently breaking into my place – that from the medicine door incident. Finally going to the point of assaulting me and forcing me into a car in an attempt to kidnap me."

She felt her anger rise up a bit and continued on a little hotly, "I don't care what you think, somehow all this is connected and I intend to find out what the hell is going on! If they, whoever they are, are willing to kidnap me, who knows what they might have been willing to do to Chris. And the worst thing is, I don't have the slightest inkling why!"

She realized she was getting mad at Will and didn't want to destroy any chances of him helping her discover the facts. So she calmed a bit and continued, "I'm sorry Will. It's just that I feel scared, frustrated and determined all at once. I spent the night in the back of a strange car with no heat. I think the thing I really need now is to get a ride home so I can change clothes and figure out what to do."

*

On the ride back to Mara's place, they stopped by the apartment manager to pick up a spare key. They both went in together. Will actually did the talking, Mara just came in wearing the obviously too-large sweatpants to show her face so that the manager would recognize her and cooperate with Will's request for a spare key.

When they arrived at Mara's place, she asked Will to drive around to the back off-street parking. Her car was still where she had left it, however, there was no sign of her purse or keys shat she must have dropped during the attack last night. Will accompanied Mara upstairs to her door and came in to check the place out for her to be sure it seemed safe. She noted from the indicator, there was a voicemail waiting, but she wanted to listen to it in private.

Will finished up his inspection and said, "Everything looks clear. Will you be alright?"

"Sure. Thanks so much for taking care of me this morning. I really appreciate your help." She looked up at his rugged good looks and again considered for a moment their relationship. Having him back in her life seemed awfully good at the moment, but then she remembered her reasons for breaking off with him. Having him as a trusted friend was really all that she wanted and she did not want to mislead him in any way so she simply said, "Thanks again Will. I don't know what I would have done."

"If you need anything, call me at the office. If my secretary gives you a tough time, tell her it's an emergency. And by all means, be careful," he replied.

She led him to the door and they embraced. After a moment she let go and looked away, not wanting him to make any attempt to kiss her. He turned to leave and she closed the door. She went to her bedroom to get into some of her own clothes. It felt a little odd still in Will's sweat clothes but not wearing any underwear.

She washed up again and considered what to do next. The place seemed disturbingly quiet after last night's ordeal, even spooky. She discovered as she attempted to apply a little makeup, that she was trembling. What a night! She couldn't calm down.

She tried to review the situation. Somebody wanted to play rough. However, they didn't try to kill her, at least not yet, so what did they want? To send three kidnappers meant they were pretty serious and she somehow was successful in evading them. But they would not, no doubt, simply give up. So she had to be on-guard. Watch every move. They obviously knew a lot about her. Where she lived, where she worked, in fact, probably had access to Viiradium.

And then there was always that distressing question: What happened to Chris? She made the grim determination at that point to find out. She could not put a face to her enemy. She was only one, she was small, she was frightened...

But she was pissed.

She suddenly remembered there was a message on her machine.
Chapter 9

"Bedford Police, Dell Taylor here?" he said after picking up the ringing phone.

"Hello, this is Mara Chandler returning your call..."

"Oh, hi Ms. Chandler! Thanks for calling back. I wonder if I could talk to you about your missing Brother? I have a few more questions."

"Sure. When would you like to get together?" she replied.

"Well, I'm free this afternoon, but I don't know what your work schedule is. Could you get out of work? Perhaps we could meet after lunch sometime?" he asked.

"Actually, I'm calling from home. I don't know if you have all the details I gave to the other officer, but I have another problem and I was really hoping I could just come over there instead. Actually, if it would be OK with you, I wanted to come over right now."

He wondered what kind of a paranoid loon this was. Couldn't she wait? One of those 'my case is more important' than anyone else's types? Oh well. He sighed then replied, "Sure, whenever you can make it, I'll be here all morning."

As she hung up the phone, she had the feeling that he wasn't too happy about her interrupting his planned schedule. Hopefully, after she explained herself, he would understand. She had a small desk in the spare bedroom of her apartment where she found her extra set of car keys and some checks which were intended to refill her checkbook, but would now have to serve as proof of her account. She grabbed a recent bank statement as well. She would need to stop by the bank and get some cash since her wallet was in her purse. Unfortunately, so was her checkbook, so she considered the fact that she would probably need to close out her account as well.

She had a couple of 'retired' purses stored on the shelf in her bedroom closet, so she retrieved one and supplied it with the usual items one would find in a girl's purse. Too bad about the wallet and her ID and such. She did a search of her desk and came up with one credit card that she didn't use because of the high interest rates but was still within the expiration date and tossed it in with the rest of the items.

The trip to the bank was quite an ordeal. She never realized what a nuisance it would be to close out an account and open another. Even though she had checks to refill her checkbook, a bank statement and a credit card to prove her identity they didn't want to believe that she was really Mara Chandler. She couldn't understand. After all, what was a person supposed to do when they lost a purse? Obviously all her 'normal' forms of identification would be in it.

Their argument was that anyone could have found someone's check refills and assumed Mara Chandler's identity and is now attempting to steal all of the real Mara Chandler's money.

After disputing the issue for 20 minutes, they finally gave in and believed her. The main office was able to send a sample of her signature to the branch office where Mara was waiting. Since Mara's signature on the check she just filled out was a close match, they couldn't refuse.

She arrived at the police station much later than she intended. She hoped that detective Taylor wouldn't be too upset since she indicated that she was coming 'right over'. As she went through the front doors, she thought, what is this the third time since Friday? This was becoming quite a habit. Again, she felt self-conscious of her appearance. While she had on a set of clean, dry clothes, she noted the scratches on her hands and caught her reflection in the door. Her makeup didn't quite cover the bruise along her jaw or the still slightly swollen lip from her ordeal the previous night.

She approached the counter and asked for Detective Taylor.

*

Not even a suburban town like Bedford granted it's detectives private offices. Dell Taylor was seated at his desk in the bullpen office area filling out reports and spending some time making calls trying to track down some burglary cases. He had a couple of officers out collecting some additional information from the victims while he worked with the collection of facts here at the office. Bedford was not big enough a police department to warrant separate divisions for vice, burglary and homicide. So the two detectives managed most of the cases while other officers were out gathering data and evidence as needed. When something more serious came along like a violent attack or even a murder, Dell got more closely involved. Without suffering through the red tape and bureaucracy which impeded some of the larger crime combating organizations, Bedford was surprisingly effective at solving it's cases and Dell played a major role in that success.

There was the occasional case where outside help was needed. Many times the state police were involved in a murder simply because of jurisdiction issues. However, there was a pretty positive spirit of cooperation among the Bedford police unit to view any outside involvement as 'help' and full mutual aid was often rendered. One area in particular that insured the success of the investigations was Dell's willingness to use outside expertise whenever he needed. He knew his limitations and did not allow his pride to impede any of his research or exploration of a particular crime. Besides, the state had much better forensic analysis capabilities, so it was beneficial to maintain cooperation.

Missing persons he found particularly interesting to solve. They were often baffling because you didn't really know for sure if the person was actually 'missing' or instead, simply 'hiding' and did not especially want to be found. He reviewed the report filed by Randy over the weekend of the Chandler case. His initial feeling was that this 'Chris' character was indeed one of those cases where he wanted to be missing and nothing dangerous really happened to him. The sister that made the report was probably nervous or even scared and her anxiety was making her see things that just weren't there.

Jeni, the office clerk, leaned over his desk as she walked by and said softly, "There's a Miss Chandler here to see you." Dell checked his watch and thought that she was much later that he had expected. He glanced over at the counter from his seat at his desk and caught sight of her.

He had to look again and then caught himself looking a little longer than he should, for she noticed him watching and she turned away slightly. She was rather petite and more attractive that he had expected. Sort of 'cute' in a way. Suddenly his attitude toward interviewing her improved.

He caught Jeni's attention and asked if the interrogation room was available. After finding out that it was, he invited Mara through the opening in the counter and introduced himself. "Welcome Ms. Chandler. Thank you so much for coming down here. You know you really didn't need to, I would have been happy to drop by later."

Mara replied, "That's quite alright. I really needed to talk to someone soon because more has happened since I came to file the original report over the weekend."

"I'm sorry Ms. Chandler, I didn't even introduce myself – I'm Dell Taylor. Let me put you in here so we can talk." He indicated a door, in fact, the same room she went to make her statement the last time she was here. "Can I get you anything to drink? Some coffee perhaps?"

She was again anxious coming to the police to explain the events of last night. She didn't think her stomach could take another round of police coffee. "No, thanks." She replied.

"I'll be right back, just let me get your file and some of my notes. Have a seat here." He indicated a chair at the lone table. She noted the unadorned nature of the room hadn't changed.

As he left, she sat and took a few breaths to settle down. She wanted to get the facts straight in her mind so she could accurately relate them. Determined as she was to get to the bottom of this, the police were in the best position now to help her. She was also a bit distracted by the detective. He had rugged good looks, about six one with dark wavy hair. A bit older than she, but young for what she would have stereotyped a detective – probably early thirties. But the most "distracting" thing was the deep green eyes. They seemed comforting yet attentively alert at the same time. They seemed to convey a feeling of strength about him. They began to make her feel quite at ease.

He came back and sat down. He spread his notes and files out in front of himself and began by asking her why she wanted to come right away. She related the events of the previous night. The attack, the escape, the night in hiding, the fear that whoever made her brother disappear was attempting to make her disappear too. While she described her ordeal, she noticed that he was not really taking notes, but rather, sort of watching her with those pools of green. She wondered to herself what he saw. A madcap? Was he noticing her scratches and bruises? Why was he simply watching?

When she finished, he thought for a moment and then wrote a few words in his notes. Then he asked, "Could there be any reason at all why your brother might not want anyone to know exactly where he is?"

She didn't like where this was going at all. "What do you mean 'not want anyone to know'?" she sort of snapped back.

He explained himself, "What I mean is, one of the most difficult things to determine whenever we investigate a missing persons case is whether the person is really missing or rather hiding and has only caused people to think he is missing. In more cases than not, people disappear because they want to and that makes this whole missing persons thing that much more difficult. In your case, I have to admit that that was my initial feeling. However, your story of last night's events cast a different light on the whole thing.

"I simply want to exclude any chance that he may have disappeared on his own and that last night's attempt to harm you was only a coincidence. So I have to ask the question. Aside from all that you know and any theories you may have formed yourself, is there any reason at all you can think of that might make him want to go into hiding?"

She felt tears well up in her eyes and she had to blink them back. She really hoped that the police would lead her to a positive solution to this whole thing. It was beginning to dawn on her that Chris was, in fact, quite likely dead. There was no other explanation for everything. Now, whoever it was put together enough of the pieces to determine she too was a threat that needed to be silenced as well. She simply felt completely helpless not knowing who or why.

Now, here are the police still talking about him running away. No foul play, no murder. What the hell did they think she was doing here? "I've thought about it..." she began with an unsteady voice, "I actually came to the same conclusion myself at first, but then I realized that something bad must have happened. He would have contacted me by now if he could have. And since I appear to have become some sort of target, there has to be a connection."

She had to mentally restrain some of her emotion. She didn't want to blow this interview by falling apart. She drew upon some of that grim determination to get to the bottom of this with or without the help of the police. "I have racked my brain. I simply cannot think of any reason for him to do this on purpose, nor can I even think of anyone who may want to hurt him."

Dell asked "Let me ask you another question. You said that one of the attackers had a cell phone with him. That he received a call. In fact, it was that call that gave you the opportunity to make your escape. Could you overhear any of the conversation? Even if only a word or two?"

She thought for a moment trying to sort the moments clearly in her mind. "He said something about somebody not being too happy if they let me get away. Yes, now that I think about it, I pretty sure he said something like, 'Red won't be happy if she gets away'. I'm not sure if he was saying it into the phone or talking to one of the others. I guess I'm not sure if I heard it right, but I suppose 'Red' could be a nickname." It was a detail that she hadn't thought of until now. Were there more that were buried in her own mind someplace?

"After such a close call, I'm a little worried about your safety. Would there be someone you could stay with for a few days until we get this sorted out?" He was hoping she could find her own place to stay because, as concerned as he was, he didn't want to spend the budget on providing police protection for her. He wasn't sure if it was really essential at this point anyway.

She thought for a moment and said, "I suppose I could stay with my mother for a few days, she lives just over in New Hampshire. But it would be a long drive to work."

"Perhaps you could take a few days off. Just get all this behind you. Let us try to find out what happened to your brother." He said. Then going back to the questioning he went on: "Are there other details, perhaps the car they had you in, did you see anything inside? Did you notice anything peculiar about the car? The license tag would obviously be helpful."

Again, she sorted the moments in her mind. She remembered before the attack noticing the car but not paying close enough attention to it to read the license. All she could recall was that it was a large, late model sedan, in a dark color. She wasn't one who paid much attention to car makes, but she would have guessed a Ford product. Perhaps a Marquis or Crown Victoria.

He went over some more details, the descriptions of the two attackers, any details she could provide about the third man, the driver and such. Then his questions turned back to the incidents prior to the attack.

"Let me ask you about Viiradium," he said. "What exactly do you do there?"

"I work as a supervisor in the human resources department. Our section deals with all of the details of hiring people as well as giving support to those who chose to leave the company or handling issues when someone is let go."

"Can you think of anyone who was terminated recently that might hold a grudge against the company and might be taking it out on you?"

"Overall, there is not too much of that, occasionally though. We do a lot more hiring, especially now with the company's success sort of going gangbusters. I can't think of any recent terminations."

"What about the work your brother does? What does he do? Would someone at work have any reason to mistreat him? Was he liked by his co-workers? Tension among the department?"

"I would have to say that Chris is really pretty likeable. He's easy going, and generally cooperative with most people. He can be stubborn when he strongly disagrees with any issue, but I think that's what contributes to his success.

She went on, "As far as his work goes, he works with the product development staff to generate new products or improve on the old ones."

"What exactly are the 'products' Viiradium produces?"

"The main focus is on computer security. Especially the secure transmission of information between computers. With most data now traversing the Internet, secure data transfer has become a very important concern. With computer and internet hacking only getting worse, Viiradium has been able to step in and improve the security of the communication we all rely upon. The company has had phenomenal growth, especially in the last six months or so. In fact, the success even surprised me a little. It was better than anyone expected as broadcast during the quarterly corporate status announcement that we just had."

"And what was Chris' role in all this?"

"Well, his main focus is in computer science. While at school, his minor was mathematics, so working with computer security and encryption was a perfect fit for him. He was relatively new but quite good with programming, especially when it came to math functions."

"So he worked with your programmers to create software to sell to customers?"

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up."

"Any reason you can think of that might be a cause of concern? Like sensitive customers or agreements to provide highly secure communication with contractors? Perhaps corporate espionage is a concern?"

"I don't think he really had anything to do directly with customers. He just worked with the development staff. You know, the department gets marching orders by some of the designers or the marketing group to produce or enhance security products. The work is broken into projects and assigned to teams. Chris serves on one of the development teams. That sort of thing."

"Well, perhaps Chris' disappearance isn't work related at all. Can you think of any other possible scenario that might raise any hint of suspicion?"

"That's just it! I'm baffled! After this much time, he would have contacted me if he could."

Dell made a few more notes to himself and made sure Mara had his number in case she did think of anything that might be significant. He saw her out and made sure she was going to stay with someone for a few days just as a precaution and returned to his desk to consider what to do next. He was a little worried. Was the attack on her and attempted abduction related to her brother's disappearance? It had to be. He learned a long time ago that true coincidence was a rare animal indeed. Most things were, in fact, related in some way. He called the dispatcher and asked that the patrol duty officers make a couple of extra passes through her neighborhood during their shifts and be watchful of any suspicious activity. He wanted to portray calm and a sense of ease, so for her sake he didn't show any of his concern during his meeting with her.

He thought about the other mathematician that disappeared from Viiradium a while back. The state police got involved in that, but he didn't think the case was ever solved. Could that be related as well? It was at least a possibility. He made a note to check into the progress of that case. He wondered if he would be able to scrape enough leads together to launch an investigation of Viiradium. He seriously doubted it. Investigating corporations was almost impossible from his standpoint. They really put up a smoke screen and a lot of red tape to impede any investigation or anything that might make them look bad, guilt or not. Investigation of corporate scandal was for crime fighting organizations with much more reach and resources that a small time force like Dell's team.

At a personal level, he found his meeting with her to be surprisingly distracting. It was a challenge not to simply sit an look at her. With her maiden name apparently intact, she at least wasn't married. She was however, a bit on the young side so he assumed that she would be generally disinterested in him. One of the fundmental rules of investigations is that personal relationships with crime witnesses was a never a good idea. It would be difficult to remain completely objective during a serious investigation if he began having any sort of romantic feelings. So he shoved those thoughts aside and focused on the case.

Although any sort of in-depth investigation of an organization like Viiradium was out of his league, he did have a few tricks he could play - If Mara would be willing to cooperate.
Chapter 10

Sequitus Technologies was on the verge of a real breakthrough. The key lay in the discovery of the Pico Timer. In fact several other companies including the Government Labs at Lawrence Livermore were racing to develop new products and technologies based on the discovery.

Sequitus had been "burned" not too long ago by one of the competitors getting secret information from within. The source of the leak was never really discovered, so all sorts of measures were taken to tighten corporate security.

The company was relatively small with no real production capabilities as of yet. The promise of what developments were possible kept the investors circling looking for potential delicious payout of rich opportunities. A few provided a good source of investment capital to keep the little band of engineers well-funded.

The Pico timer was the heart of the next generation of radio transmission devices, as well as other possibilities. However, better radios were not the real goal, but more exotic 'demonstrations' were in development. An extremely high resolution and highly accurate sort of Radar was one possibility. It would allow a person to literally 'see' through solid objects. The police could see into buildings where dangerous suspects might be evading capture. Rescuers could search the debris after an earthquake for survivors. The was not like the fuzzy green images that the current military grade radar imaging units provided. This was a very good definition image of what lay beyond solid objects.

Cellular phones would have much more capability – more reliable and higher speed data transmission, lower cost, better sound quality. Digital Television could expand it's horizons by providing real time user interaction along with improved quality transmission at a fraction of the cost of what digital Television broadcast was producing now.

So, much was at stake and it was a risky business. Risky from the standpoint of potential failure and risky due to the almost combative relationship among the competition. There were spies. There were e-mail and network traffic snoops. In fact, the recent security policy change implemented at the company dictated that all e-mail had to be encrypted to reduce interception by hackers or other uninvited intruders.

Among the many jobs he did for Sequitus, Mike Ludwik was appointed the chief of corporate security. This meant he had to oversee not only the physical access portion of the security risks, but also the risks associated with the transmittal of data. Especially data that might need to go across some portion of the internet. He was baffled over the apparent security leaks of the past. He did not want to risk interception or theft of sensitive and lucrative information to occur during his appointment of security oversight. He was determined to do all that he could to prevent it. His only problem was that he didn't really know how the information was getting out.

The engineering department had a working demonstration of a portable, high resolution, close range radar imaging device – code named "Voyeur", that would allow the user to clearly see what was going on in another room. Right now, the early prototype set up of the device was a little complex. The user had to arrange a trio of small transmitting antennae arrays. The received radio reflection was picked up by a fourth antenna and fed into a digital signal processing unit. The resulting output was displayed on a small, hand-held tablet. The user had full control over penetration depth, zoom and object density control through a set of soft controls right on the touch sensitive display tablet.

Eventually, the goal would be to miniaturize the entire unit into a lightweight head mounted visor or "glasses" which would provide binocular vision. The potential for such a device was enormous. The military was very interested as was law enforcement and rescue agencies. Throw on a pair of glasses and look through rock for earthquake victims, drug lords or war criminals. Also, the government was closely watching the developments from a regulatory perspective since the technology could be abused or exploited if made available to the wrong hands.

Mike himself was one of the engineers working on the project along with his expanded role of corporate security enforcer. It was necessary for information to be passed among several parties: The US patent office, updates to investors, materials requests to parts contractors and such. With so much information flowing, it was a real challenge to tightly control what information was going where, especially once it left Sequitus. The contractors who wanted to communicate electronically, were only allowed to if they agreed to follow the strong data transmission encryption rules. What actually went in any communication (electronically or otherwise) was also strictly controlled so no proprietary information could be given away.

Mike constantly checked to see if there was any possibility that the computer systems or information flow could be suffering any sort of break in or being "hacked" by outsiders. The threatening environment made the possibility of such an attempt very real. In fact, the competition was just as technically adept and completely familiar with security and encryption as he was, so he had to monitor any suspicious activity scrupulously. This made for fairly inconvenient, perhaps even difficult communication processes for all involved, but they were necessary. It also made for constant review of the data logs looking for signs of any sort of unscrupulous activity.

Mike, as well as most of the others in the organization, were fairly certain that the past information leaks were the result of some form of information "theft" and probably not caused intentionally by anyone inside Sequitus. There was too much at stake with huge potential for anyone to be that dumb to cause a compromise. Thus, if only Mike could determine how the information was getting out in spite of all the security measures, he would feel much better. Then he could make sure that "hole" was closed and probably take serious legal action against the guilty parties.

So how could they doing it?
Chapter 11

As Mara drove from the Police, she thought of what she would need to take for her stay at her mother's. She felt good about the suggestion of Detective Taylor's to find a safe place to stay. Since her mother lived in New Hampshire, that put a little physical distance between her and anyone who might be willing to do her harm.

Detective Taylor. Dell. What kind of a name was that? Actually she rather liked it. It probably was short for some aristocratic European family name. Like many people, he probably didn't even like it that much. "Be realistic" she told herself. Why was she thinking of him instead of the issues at hand? She did note the absence of a ring, in fact, she didn't see any jewelry on him except the watch. What was with her and older men anyway? Not that he was old, probably eight years or so older that she. Could he realistically solve this case? Would he give it enough priority or was she simply another witness in another long day of ongoing investigations? Did he think her story and suspicions were reasonable? Or just the troubled musings of a paranoid nutcase. She had to put him out of her mind and focus on what she needed to do.

She was still baffled as to what really happened to Chris. Even though knowing that he likely was dead from a logical sense, she still needed to understand what happened. She couldn't let what little unrealistic hope she had for his safe recovery to die just yet.

As she approached her neighborhood, the thought dawned on her that she should make a stop at the office. She should probably let Will know what was going on, if she could find him. Plus, today would be the day the e-mail restore of her deleted messages would be available. If she didn't look today, the messages would simply get deleted again tonight. Also, she had no ID card. She could go in through the front door past the receptionist during the day. Once she got to her office, she could get a replacement ID card. For once a benefit to working in Human Resources. They were the ones who issued ID cards, so it would be relatively easy for her.

So, she turned around and headed the other direction back to the office. She parked in the small lot in the front of the building reserved for visitors and went in through the front. Getting past the receptionist wasn't too hard since she vaguely recognized Mara. When she got off the elevator, someone was just happened to be coming through the double doors that led to her area so she could just breeze right through without needing an ID card to gain access.

Once she arrived at her section of the floor, she set about making a new ID card for herself. The security cards could be replaced on a temporary or permanent basis. Permanent cards took longer as a Photo of the employee was needed and an entirely new account was created. This was because the old account associated with the old card had to be deleted to prevent one finding the old card from gaining access to the facilities. Temporary cards simply were that. Someone who forgot their card could get a temporary for the day which was simply a duplicate of the regular card minus the photo and only good for a limited time.

She accessed the employee database and went to the section where the ID card details would get loaded to the card printer. She did not even have access to create new cards. Someone at her supervisor's level had access to more sensitive data and would be needed to authorize the creation of a new card. But she could create temporary cards for existing employees. She put a blank card in the security card writer which then created a temporary for her with an expiration of the maximum of one month. She had to log the card as issued. All temporary cards were reviewed regularly to be sure the employee found and began using their regular card. She didn't expect to get her card back, but she would worry about a permanent one later. This would be fine for a few days.

She got back to her desk and started up her computer. While it was booting, she went through her voice mail messages. She had more than she had hoped so it took a while longer than she anticipated.

Anxious to get to her e-mail she opened the e-mail in tray by selecting the icon. She noted there were several new messages. But she wanted to see what was in her 'deleted' folder. She knew that the messages that 'Vince' restored to this folder last night would only be available for today. There were several more messages in the deleted folder. These would be the messages that were deleted today as well as those put back in from last night's deleted restore from last week. Since she had not yet deleted anything today, these were all messages from last week. There among the messages from various people and departments within the company was one ambiguous message listed as: a77624@anonymous.fi

She selected it for read and waited a second or two for the contents to display. As she began to read the message, fear and excitement mixed to give her an almost surrealistic sense of extreme alertness. The message read:

From: a77624@anonymous.fi

To: mchandler@Viiradium.com (Mara Chandler)

Subject: Anonymous Mail Relay

Message: Mara, don't worry about how you got this message, No choice. Important! Tomb of Rivest discovered at Viiradium! They know I'm here! I have to go...

Chris.

She could kick herself for not reading this message the first time she had it before deleting it. She didn't understand the message, but it seemed that he was into something after all! What the hell was the 'Tomb of Rivest' anyway? It's at Viiradium? That doesn't even make sense. The part about 'they know I'm here' sounded pretty foreboding, like he was in some kind of trouble. Why didn't he simply e-mail her the message instead of using this surreptitious anonymous relay technique?

Obviously, now more than ever, it seemed that Viiradium must be somehow involved. She had to get this printed onto paper and then delete the message again. She selected the print function and walked directly over to the department printer to wait for the output. She didn't want someone else accidentally picking up her print with theirs. After retrieving it, she stuffed the printed copy into her purse. Now she had to decide how to deal with the e-mail message itself. She reconsidered deleting it because if she deleted it, it would not really be deleted until later tonight as she was now familiar after talking with Vince. She wondered what would happen if she deleted it from the "deleted" folder. Probably nothing. So she decided to move it from the deleted folder into one of her many project folders.

From here she could "protect" any file by assigning a password to it, so she selected the protect function and entered "fr33Ze" as the lock word. This fit the principle rules of password selection: easy to remember, hard to guess. She simply thought of the password as 'freeze' but by using 3's instead of e's made it much harder for someone to stumble or hack their way into something private. The protect function actually encrypted the original message itself so at least it would be a little more difficult for someone to find and decipher this way.

She felt even more urgent about getting out of here now. Something was definitely going on. She intended to find out what it was. But she did not have any intention of disappearing like Chris did. For now, however, leaving seemed the best choice.

She logged off and shut down her computer, collected her temporary ID card and temporary purse and headed out. She took a detour by Will's office and ran into him just coming back from a meeting in the hallway.

"Will!" she began, "I wondered if you could do me a favor. I need to be away at my mother's a couple of days and I don't want to deal with my boss with explanations and such."

"Is everything OK?" His concern showed through his response.

"Sure, it's just with all that is going on, with Chris and all, I just need to help her a little". This was a bit of a lie, her mother didn't even know Mara was coming.

"No problem, I'll let her know for you. If you need anything just give me a call. I really hope this thing with your Brother works out, especially knowing what you must be going through." They parted with a quick good bye and he gave her a brief squeeze of the shoulder which is about all one could get away with in a business office environment these days.

She left the building through the main reception area since her car was in the front visitor's lot and once more, headed back toward her place. As she drove through her neighborhood, her fear and apprehension heightened as events of the other evening came to mind. What if someone was still waiting? If they were watching, they no doubt knew she had visited the police. She decided that she had money and the only thing at her place she could get was some clothes. She had some clothes at her mother's place and she could always stop at a drug store to pick up any personal items so she drove right on by her place and headed toward the main highway that would eventually take her to Ashbury New Hampshire.

*

The hour and a half drive to her mother's was relatively uneventful. She didn't want to risk being followed, so she got off the exit before she normally would have and drove some of the back roads. This way she could keep an eye on the other traffic in the event someone with more surveillance skill could still be trailing her. Mara never did call her mother to let her know she was stopping by and in fact staying with her for a few days. But she knew mom would be happy to see her and if, by chance, she wasn't home, Mara knew where she kept a spare key outside.

The drive gave her some time to think and some time to notch up the paranoia to new heights. Just what she needed, another episode of gut-wrenching anxiety. The message from Chris was the most puzzling of all. Why didn't he just say what he meant instead of all the mystery with this "Tomb of Rivest" stuff? And why not simply call or e-mail direct to her? It obviously had something to do with Viiradium and the obvious answer was that he simply couldn't. Perhaps by sending the message through some sort of a relay service a message could be delivered to her at Viiradium without their knowledge of such a message. It would seem likely that Chris was crudely trying to get help while taking steps to protect her.

Some protection. Somehow, they were on to her now since they had broken into her place. Why? Probably looking for something. But for what? Then there was the little episode where they violently tried to abduct her. Who knows where she would have ended up if they had succeeded. She would have to be extremely cautious.

Now to decide what to do with the message. The police didn't seem to be moving too fast on the case. Would this new twist be of any value? She wondered if going to the local police was a wise decision. Perhaps this case was bigger that she realized and going to the state police would have been better. Dell seemed concerned and she liked him, but what could he do?

Since Viiradium was involved, should she go to Will? Could she even trust him? Of course. He had been helpful to her so far. He was likely unaware of the involvement of Viiradium. But he was, after all, upper management. How could he not know more? She felt a little guilty doubting the integrity of such a close friend and decided she had to trust someone and it would be good to have someone on her side that knew Viiradium well.

In fact, it wouldn't hurt to tell both. Let either of them do anything they can to help resolve the situation.

Her stomach began to make its hunger demands known and she realized it had been quite a while since she had anything to eat. It probably didn't help her gastric health much to be running on empty when she spent the day on edge so far. She still had a a few miles before reaching her mother's so she pulled off into a small diner in Greenville which was the next town from her mother's farm in Ashbury. It was classic 'greasy spoon' dining selection, but the tuna pita wrap didn't sound too laden with harmful lipoproteins, so she ordered along with a lemonade.

She kept a watchful eye on people as they came and went but nothing seemed suspicious or out of the ordinary. She actually ended up enjoying her meal and began to relax a bit. She thought that it would be nice to spend a couple of days with mom and sort of 'catch up' with each other. Although it would be rather tense trying to explain to mom why Mara thought Chris was likely dead.

The afternoon was getting late and evening would come early this time of year, so she paid her tab and got herself moving again. By the time she pulled up the drive to her mother's the sun was dancing it's final good-byes at the rim of the western horizon.

The place looked quite like it always had. Perhaps a little more tired, that's all. She wondered when she last come up to visit and was alarmed and a little ashamed when she couldn't even remember. She didn't see her mother's car around but she could have parked in the old carriage house. In addition to the main house and the old carriage house, there was a substantial sized barn as well as a couple of smaller sheds 'out back'. None of the farm buildings were really used for anything anymore and in fact, the barn sagged to the point where it was probably too dangerous to even venture inside now.

She stopped the car, grabbed her temporary purse and approached the house. Where the pillars supporting the roof over the front porch met the ceiling, there was an inside ledge where mother usually kept a spare key for emergencies. She found it without difficulty and pulled back the screen door.

Someplace in the back of her mind, a warning bell seemed to sound. The door wasn't quite latched and opened to her touch. After all the events of the past couple of days, she didn't need this. What was going on? Was mom OK? It would be very odd indeed for her to not be home and leave the door not only unlocked, but open.

She hesitated for a moment to consider what to do next. Could this have anything to do with the disappearance of Chris?

*

At a somewhat regular interval, the Bedford Police went through an open case review. During the reviews, the detectives and officers working on open cases exchanged some ideas and, at the direction of the chief, determined whether to continue or shelve the case. Dell couldn't believe it. To have the chief take away an unsolved case without going through case review was highly irregular. Especially a case as new as this missing person situation with open leads to be followed up on.

Dell was on pretty good terms with Chief Donaldson, but no matter what argument he tried in support of keeping the case assigned to him the way it was, the chief simply ignored him and said "It's out of my hands. It came from higher up."

Higher up than what? Dell wondered. Bedford was not a large city. Someone at the state level? When he tried to ask if Viiradium was involved or had become part of another investigation, the chief again turned a cold shoulder and wouldn't supply any information.

He sat thinking about the situation and wondered if a company like Viiradium could influence law enforcement agencies. They were rich and profitable and would likely have many friends in higher places. In fact, since they were one of the main players in the encryption industry, they would, no doubt, have friends in the federal government. This whole thing was really beginning to stink. Should he dare defy the chief and secretly continue the investigation? What could the chief do? Fire him? Dell had a pretty good local reputation – so he doubted that. In fact he was surprised that chief Donaldson didn't level with him and supply a frank and open explanation of what really happened.

He became really concerned for the girl. The more he considered the facts of the case, the more concerned he became. He was glad that she was going out of town for a while. But if the influence extended even to law enforcement organizations, what would happen when she got back? Or perhaps there was a genuine threat and the reach of this vague menace could just as easily put Mara in danger at her mother's anyway. If there was substance to her story and he could determine who 'they' were and what it was they wanted, things would be a whole lot easier to figure out. Well that's the sort of investigation that he was commissioned to do as a public servant and like it or not, he needed to do what he could in spite of the new status of "case closed".

He decided to find out the outcome of the investigation of the missing mathematician from several months ago. That might shed some light on the matter. He thought also that a phone call to Mara just to make sure she made it to her mother's without incident and that she was all settled in would be a good idea. He tried her call and got her voicemail and then remembered that she mentioned her purse along with her cell phone were lost during the attack. Using his computer, he checked the person directories to find the number for "Chandler" in Ashbury New Hampshire. He hoped the mother never remarried and had a different name. Fortunately, there was only one listing to choose from, so he picked up the phone and dialed.

While he waited for an answer, he wondered how he would identify himself without raising concern for Mrs. Chandler. Simply giving his name and asking for Mara would be best.

However, there was again, no answer.

*

Mara decided that caution should reign. She was torn between rushing the house to check if everything was alright with her mom and backing away in fear of who could be waiting in the house. There was no response to her loud calls of "Mom?" But rather that rush in, caution won over her mental conflict and she decided to first check the carriage house to see if her mother's car was even here. Based on what she found, then she would decide what to do.

There were no other cars around that she could see, so it would seem that the house was not occupied, it just unsettled her after her recent tribulation at the hands of unknown assailants. As she walked past her car toward the carriage house another car pulled in the long drive and approached her parked car. At first she thought it was likely her mother although she didn't recognize the car. The car parked behind her car and the engine was switched off, but no one got out. From her position she couldn't see past the glare of the windshield to identify the driver. As she waited a moment for the driver to emerge a male voice from behind startled her. In fact she jerked around so violently, she felt she as if her skin was still catching up with the sudden intense movement.

"Welcome Ms. Chandler. We've been expecting you."

With sickening dread she identified the voice as belonging to a familiar man with a bandaged right hand. He adjusted his stance and removed any doubt as the bandaged hand came into view.

He continued, "I trust you had a pleasant trip. We began to wonder if you were going to show up."

She looked around, perhaps a little wildly, while backing away from him searching her mind for a solution to this new dilemma.

"Oh, don't worry about getting away this time. We may have underestimated you the first time, but we won't be so easily duped again. It looks as if you've injured your lip. I hope it was nothing serious", he went on with a menacing sneer on his lips.

She was backed up against her car. Her car was blocked by the other car parked behind. That car would have reinforcements inside. The man with the bandaged hand walked up to her and blocked any route of escape. He towered over her. He stood there a moment looking down at her. She thought she could faintly hear the phone ring inside her mother's house. Unexpectedly, with his left hand, he slapped her hard in the face. The blow literally took her off her feet and sent her sprawling. Her mind reeled with terror as she desperately thought about some escape plan. Nothing came to her. She could feel her cheek begin to swell. As she lay on the damp November ground, she was at eye level with her temporary purse which she had again dropped during this new attack. The extreme stress was filling her with adrenaline and her intensified senses could definitely hear the phone ringing in the house.

He contemptuously spat out, "The next time you decide to smash someone's hand, perhaps you'll think twice, you no-good little bitch!" As she struggled to sit up, he reached down and grabbed her by the hair and literally dragged her upright. 'Not the hair again' she thought. She wasn't ready to endure another round of physical abuse. However, she could sense someone getting out of the other car. She was getting helplessly boxed in with no escape.

Her self-defense efforts would be of little use against someone twice her size. She was always taught to go for the eyes first and if that wasn't possible, then go for the crotch.

She went for the crotch.

Though tears flooded her eyes from the pain unleashed on her scalp and her right eye was beginning to swell to the point that seeing her target was becomming a challenge, she managed to land a solid kick square between the legs of her attacker.

She expected dramatic results, but the man almost seemed prepared for it and only momentarily lost his composure. It was, however, the break she needed. She spun around, opened the driver door of her car and jumped in behind the wheel. Before slamming the door, she use the wheel for balance and reached down to snatch her purse from the ground. As the man lunged for the door handle she managed to beat him to the punch, slamming the door shut and hitting the electric lock button. By this time, another one of the thugs, perhaps the big clumsy one from the other night, joined him from the other car. While she dug through her jumbled purse for her keys she chanced a glance out the window. Neither looked happy.

She managed to jam the key in the ignition of her little Subaru just as the big one smashed something hard into the window of the car door. She turned her head away at the last instant and felt the shower of safety glass implode upon her. As they managed to get the door lock disengaged, she managed to get the engine started. They grabbed the door handle, she thrust the gearshift in drive and stepped on the gas. The wheels spun in the loose driveway gravel, but the tires bit and she was off, heading straight at the closed door of the carriage house. From somewhere behind, she heard a gun being fired. She hadn't noticed a gun before. Was that what they smashed the window with? Were they trying to kill her or just disable the car?

At the last moment she swerved and drove through the yard. She had to zigzag a bit to avoid a couple of trees in the back yard. As she recklessly flew across the yard, she had to fight for control as grass and debris were thrown in every direction. On the other side of the yard she met a dirt drive that went right or left. To the left, back to the street. To the right it led to the old barn out back and into the unused farm fields.

She spun the wheel left toward the street and instantly regretted it. From her position she could see that they already saw her plan of escape and were positioning their car to block her path by cutting across the front yard and approaching from the opposite end. The yard and the street was separated by a ditch so the only way out was via the dirt drive she was on which was now blocked or she would have to return to the regular driveway, a route that would no doubt have an apparently well-armed thug standing in the way to shoot her if she tried.

She made a desperate turn of the steering wheel and spun the car completely around almost losing complete control. She paused for a moment hoping that the four wheel drive of her little Subaru could deal with what she was thinking and headed down the dirt track toward the barn and the fields. Checking the mirror, which was difficult due to the violently rough roadway, she noticed they were not far behind. She may have four wheel drive, but they had a much larger and faster car.

She flew past the old barn and the dirt drive suddenly deteriorated into nothing more than an overgrown path. The fields were in their last stages of the cold November season before the first snows came. The grass and weeds were high enough that she could barely tell where she was driving. The little car slipped and swerved a bit but actually did quite well. However, another glance in the mirror revealed that she wasn't losing them as she hoped.

The field abruptly ended and the path made an unexpected turn to the right. She wasn't fully prepared for the change in direction and turned a little bit too late. Unfortunately, the typical New Hampshire farm terrain was often bordered by old stone walls. She almost made the turn as the left front corner of the car caught the stone border wall. She was was carrying enough momentum when she hit that even though it was a glancing blow, it was enough to set off her air bags. This surprised the living crap out of her and through the clouds of smoke from the discharge she fought frantically for control of the car. She wasn't able to handle the steering properly with the deflating bag hanging out of the wheel and she ended up spinning completely around and slamming backwards into an old pile a stones and rocks built up at the edge of the old field.

She sat for just a few seconds, dazed and coughing in the smoke of the airbag propellant, and looked up in time to see her pursuers miss the same turn. Their larger car had less control and they impacted the same stone wall she hit. Only in their case it was a bit more direct and most of the front end of their car was heavily damaged. In seeming slow motion she saw the frame of the car buckle, both driver and passenger airbags blow and the windshield shatter. They even managed to do considerable damage to the wall itself. She could smell gasoline and suspected it was from her car since she slammed back end first into a pile of stones.

She had enough sense to put her purse strap over her shoulder and make a run for it before they came to their senses and came after her. Crouching low, she approached the stone wall through the tall field. She scrambled over the top of the one meter high wall and sort of flopped onto the ground on the other side. She lay there for a moment and looked around. The stone wall divided the farm field where her car was and the woods beyond. She tried to get her bearings by looking around. She should be somewhat familiar with where she was, since she used to live here and had hiked about in these fields and woods as a teen.

She sat and thought about giving herself a good kick for running into the wall to begin with. She should have remembered it was there. It's just that with the high field grass and weeds, and the fear of pursuit, she simply forgot. She took the time to assess her injuries. Her face really ached from being slapped before, but somehow she hit the left side of her head pretty good and blood was oozing from the cut it left somewhere above the hairline. She must of bounced up and slammed her head into the doorframe of the car when she struck the wall. The air bag probably helped some, but she wasn't wearing her seat belt so she got tossed around quite a bit. A lot of the broken glass 'crumbs' got inside her clothing from the shattered side window and left their mark of tiny cuts in several places. She could feel the wetness of blood in a couple of places on her back . She imagined the look of hell she must have conveyed now.

She crept forward along the wall a bit through the tangled remains of the November underbrush that bordered the woods. She realized that she was approaching the spot where the enemy car sat. She overheard some stirring from the car and sat perfectly still, listening. She could feel the cold, wet earth seep into her clothes further.

She heard one of the doors slam with a long string of colorfully infuriated verbal expletives. Apparently another person from within the car joined the first.

"Just great!" came the first voice. It sounded like the same voice of the one with the broken hand that she kicked between the legs. He continued, "She's long gone now! How could we let this happen? We knew exactly where she was going to be and when, and again, she manages to get away. How can one small girl cause so much trouble!"

The other one, probably the big dumb one that broke her side window, seemed to just sort of grunt in response. The broken hand one said, "Does your phone still work? I don't even know where mine went – it must have flown somewhere when we hit the wall. Call Sonner and get some reinforcements up here! She's in these woods someplace with no transportation. She can't get too far so we should be able to pick her up. It's getting dark, so be sure to get some night gear. Her body heat will show up nicely on a night scope."

He swore some more and apparently kicked the car a few times to vent off some frustration. "I cannot believe this! We're going to have to let Red know sometime tonight what's going on, so we have to find her NOW before we call him!"

She lay there a few moments not knowing just what to do. Apparently they were not giving up without a fight. Neither was she. However, she was only one amateur, they had resources, night scopes, more people, money, apparently some unknown yet compelling motivation. She simply couldn't stay here any longer in case they started searching. She began to crawl through the brush away from the wall toward the woods. Her wounds and bruises screamed in protest. It was difficult to comprehend how much her body ached.
Chapter 12

Mike Ludwik was convinced the security problems Sequitus was experiencing was due to some sort of subversion from an outside entity. Typically, security leaks were caused by inside people. On occasion someone could casually mention something sensitive to a neighbor or a friend and then that person might pass it along. All very innocent, but damaging anyway. More seriously, a disgruntled or former employee might want to "get even" over some imagined issue and maliciously spy or sell sensitive information.

But not in this case. This company was relatively small. Everyone had a lot at stake personally that depended on the success of the company. He knew everyone and they were all friends with strong engineering and computer backgrounds. Any of them could do a lot of damage, especially with the highly competitive nature of the race to be the first to develop and patent the Pico timer technology. But he trusted everyone involved at Sequitus. Their common goals made them more like a family.

Still, somehow, someone outside was stealing sensitive information. Perhaps a phone was tapped. Maybe the trash was getting stolen and examined for clues by a competitor. A listening device planted somewhere. It was that cutthroat. He was taking all the steps he could to identify and stop any such theft. He instituted a new policy to shred all documents that were being discarded. He was having all the phones and lines examined as well as doing a sweep of all the office facilities for hidden transmitters. He had to examine the computer infrastructure in some detail, so he just called in his computer technology technical manager, Annette Amitage, to discuss the situation.

"As you know, we are experiencing some sort of information leak and trying to get to the bottom of it," he began. "I was thinking you could give me some of the details about just how we are protecting our data and computerized information from exposure to someone unfriendly on the outside."

Annette thought a moment and said, "Well, we have the latest security practices and policies in place. Our corporate data flows pretty freely between users and systems inside the company. Users can be restricted from any area by based on their log on identity, but most people have access to everything simply because they need it."

"I was thinking more in terms of a way someone outside Sequitus could view sensitive information. What about monitoring our internet traffic, hacking the firewall, emails to people outside, that sort of thing."

"Again, we use some pretty good stuff to protect ourselves. For remote access, we have a couple of people that access the systems from home or while travelling, but they need a authentication passkey to connect. We trust those people who have passkeys and even if they lost one, someone finding it would still need a valid PIN number to use it.

"As far as the internet is concerned, we have the latest internet firewall equipment and software from Viiradium. That protects us from people on the outside, people on the internet, from getting at any computerized data on our corporate side. And even if they did manage to access the firewall and copy data transactions, we use standard encryption practices for authentication and secure data access – even emails."

Mike considered this for a moment then asked, "So let's say that someone was able to copy or somehow 'capture' an electronic conversation between Sequitus and an outside contractor or a remote employee or government office or something. You're saying that there's no way they could decode or decrypt what we're sending or receiving so that it becomes usable?"

"It's not impossible, but so impractical to make it very unlikely. We encrypt using standard, government grade, one hundred twenty eight bit encryption. What this boils down to is that it would take someone with a heck of a lot of computing power and a lot of years to spend trying trillions of different combinations to crack the encryption."

"What about the authentication techniques you mentioned?" Mike asked.

"Again, using accepted, standard stuff. Two Thousand Forty Eight bit keys. We give out a public key that someone could use to encrypt a message intended for us. Once the message is encrypted, only the private key that we hold can de-scramble the message. If we want to return a message, we use their public key they provide to us to encrypt a message which can then only be understood by their use of the private key that only they hold.

"We even use digital certificates to authenticate the keys themselves. The certificates are 'signed' electronically by a government sponsored registering authority for verification. Again, common practice in the industry."

"So let me ask you hypothetically," Mike said, "suppose you wanted to steal information from us. You're a computer security expert, how would you go about doing it?"

Annette gave it a moment's thought and said, "Well, tracing and capturing an individual electronic transaction among hundreds on the internet is difficult enough. You would have to know someone that managed one of the routers or firewalls that connects the web together. Even if you could do that, you are still in the possession of this recording of a digital conversation that's entirely scrambled.

"Now, of course network break-ins have occurred because there is plenty of motivation to do so. A lot of private things like credit card numbers move around the internet all the time and those are worth a lot to criminals."

"So you're saying our security can be compromised by a bunch of half-wit criminals with a PC at home?"

Annette continued, "Not exactly, first, most home users or would be consumers only encryption methods that are not at the same strength as ours. It seems impractical to try to break encryption, but some of the weaker really only need about a dozen cheap PC's and about a week's worth of computing time before you start decrypting transactions. If fact, if your criminal spreads his computing costs over a year, he can probably break codes and obtain valid credit card numbers for about fifty bucks for each number obtained."

"That seems like a lot of effort which must add to the cost and certainly there must be some risks. What about these notorious internet security hacks that keep making the papers? How are they being done? Don't their victims have good encryption technologies?

"Most of the time, it starts with something much less sophisticated than you think. One could simply to set up a business on the web to do something like, say, sell coffee or whatever. All a consumer needs to do to get some of the 'world's finest' coffee is enter their credit card information and in two or three days have the best cup of coffee you have ever tasted. And, by the way, your transactions are totally secured. The only trouble is... Ha! There is really no intent to actually sell any coffee, just to attract people to think they are buying something to lure them into exposing their credit card numbers. After a couple of days, the criminal who was offering the goods – the coffee - simply shuts the site down and disappears. Before you know it, he's got a couple of hundred valid numbers. Not bad since the cost of setting up a new site with a unique name is cheap and in fact practically free really.

"Another way is to simply masquerade as a well established supplier of consumer goods. Let's say Land's End. You only have to fool the internet name resolution process into thinking you are the real Land's End and Presto! You're collecting credit card numbers.

"Being able to trick people into giving up something innocent sounding is another way that seems to find good success. You make a phone call asking for something and sounding like an authority. It could be something simple like asking for a password."

"People are so dumb that they just give away their password?"

"No, but let's say that the person asking sounds like someone you could trust. What if you were having some computer access trouble so you call and ask the computer support team for some help. They say, 'Sure! Glad to help! Can we get you password so we can check out the problem you are having?' Would you give away your password then?"

"But I trust them."

"Right. We all do. But what if the person in the support department isn't really them? They could have initiated a call to you offering to help you with a problem that doesn't really exist yet they sound convincing enough, so you go along and five them your password. They 'fix' the problem and thank you and then use your password to get whatever they were after."

"So we could be so easily tricked into giving away the keys to the store?"

"Well, not really. We are using 128 bit encryption strength which is still much too difficult to de-scramble and the other scenarios don't really apply to us. We don't operate in a consumer market. To avoid being fooled into transmitting to a party that is impersonating one of our business partners, we have separately verified all the internet addresses. We all know the people in tech support. We have trained everyone to trust no one on the outside."

"Thanks for the explanation of all this," Mike said, "I guess I understood most of this before, but hearing you explain things makes it much clearer. You still haven't answered my question about how you would steal information from us."

"I guess I would resort to the same old tricks that have always seemed to work. Finding someone that is upset over something and willing to talk or reveal something. Bugging a phone line or an office perhaps. Or, what about some of the possibilities of the very equipment we are developing here? The Pico timer technology represents some attractive and even revolutionary concepts for spying on people. Our competitors would stop at nothing, perhaps they are just a bit ahead of us and are using the very same kind of equipment we are developing to watch us closely."

He hadn't even considered it, but he would be very surprised if a competitor was that far ahead. Sequitus seemed to be the most advanced and the first to produce anything that could be patented. So he doubted that would be a serious threat to consider.

"Do me a favor Annette, think about our information setup. Try to come up with any ways someone could be reading any of our data. I'm at the point to just about pull the plug on all the computers so that no one can network to anything. It would be terribly inconvenient but you know what's at stake. Products based on Pico timer technology are revolutionary. Our success could translate into millions for all of us. If our ideas are stolen or even if information was circulated based on half-truths to ruin our reputation to slow us down, we could end up with nothing.

"Examine our security policies and our setup again. Make sure everyone is securing all transactions. If you find anything or even think of anything, come see me, then between the two of us, we can brainstorm toward a solution to any problems you might discover."

"No problem Mike. I agree that this is important. I doubt that our computer security is at risk, but it can't hurt to continuously review and check our security position."

"Thanks. Let me know what you find." Annette got up, collected her notes and went back to her own office. Mike had confidence in Annette. She was a little reckless about her attitude and a little young to take things seriously, but she really knew her stuff. She had a unique ability to break things down to their simplest components for analysis and a clear layman's explanation of complicated details.

He was still no closer to understanding if they were exposed and how they were infiltrated previously. He couldn't help thinking that something simply was being overlooked.

*

Dell was getting worried. He tried a couple of times to call Mara's mother in Ashbury. Mara was probably fine, just went out with her mom or something. But the fact that he couldn't reach her was worrisome just the same. He considered driving up to check things out, but the hour drive seemed like an unreasonable commitment to a problem that likely didn't exist. If it were not an attractive young lady, would he have the same urge to check up on the situation? Probably not. She should have been there hours ago, so where was she? He even checked her home number in case she decided not to go to Ashbury after all, but only got her machine.

What the heck. Why not go for a drive? What else was he going to do tonight? He could work on the case, but he was given clear orders not to. He couldn't understand this, but didn't want to upset the chief since they were on pretty good terms with each other. As he considered this, his phone rang.

"Detective Taylor...", he answered.

"Dell, it's Steve Millhaus." Steve was a longtime friend of Dell's who was a Sargent in the Massachusetts State Police.

"Hey Steve! Thanks for calling me back."

"I checked into that missing guy you asked about. The one from that company in Bedford, Viiradium, right?" Steve said.

"Yeah, what were you able to turn up? Was the case ever solved?"

"Well, it's pretty funny. The case never really went anywhere. The investigation sort of ended and there really is no explanation as to what happened. Seems there was a lack of evidence and even a lack of interest. There was a relative that was really pushing for answers, but eventually, the case was simply filed as 'unsolved'".

"That's pretty interesting Steve. Between you and me, something a little funny is going on. Another guy has simply disappeared from that place. He has a sister that also works there who came forward and filed a missing persons report. Then someone tried to abduct her as well. Seemed like a professional kidnapping but they botched it and she got away.

"Now I'm being told to 'drop the case' with excuses like, 'this missing guy probably just skipped town on his own'. Sort of a 'you know how young single people are...' explanation"

"That is rather interesting" Steve said. "You looking to turn this over to us?"

"No, I just was suspicious and I made my inquiry to you before I was told to drop the case. So officially, no. I'm not turning anything over to you. But as a friend, the whole thing has a bad smell."

"I can understand what you mean. If you need anything, feel free to give me a call."

They exchanged good-byes and got off the phone. Now Dell was a little more worried. It was almost six and it had gotten dark. He decided to give the house in Ashbury one more call and if no one was there, drive up and check things out himself. He could just call the local sheriff in New Hampshire, but that would mean being involved in a case that he wasn't supposed to be involved in.
Chapter 13

The night was not going well. She stumbled through the darkening woods. The inky sky started to produce a cold, fine November drizzle. Mara's bruised and bloodied body quickly became soaked. Her coat was no match for long term exposure to rain and cold. She needed someplace to shelter.

Her shivering only made her have to go to the bathroom even more. She could not imagine sticking her cold bottom out in the elements deep in the woods in the dark someplace, but eventually she had no choice.

The terrain would probably have been considered delightfully scenic under better circumstances. Now it was downright treacherous. Numerous hills and gullies throughout the woods clawed at any real headway. Her battered purse and soaked jacket caught on brambles to impede her progress. She eventually came to a clearing which turned out to be another farm. This farm seemed like it was still in operation. She could see the looming shape of the barn in the darkness. She found her way inside and from the exceptionally foul smell of animal waste knew that this farm was definitely in use. She would normally be afraid of large animals in the dark, but once you are pursued by human animals, your perspective changes a little. These kind animals weren't so bad after all.

There was a dim glow coming from a single bulb located within the barn someplace. She managed to find an old set of ladder steps built into the wall that led to an upper loft. Her aches were incredible. Even though she had eaten only a couple of hours ago, the cold seemed to gnaw at her appetite itself so that she felt starved. She dragged herself up the rungs to the upper loft, found some loose hay and buried herself for warmth. The fine dust from the hay made her sneeze a couple of times.

She desperately needed sleep and she also needed medical attention. Her face was stained with blood from the cut in her head. The blood smeared from the drizzle had blemished quite a lot of her clothing. Some of the glass in her back had worked its' way out, but there were a couple of spots on her right side where the bits of glass seemed to penetrate deeper.

She lay there trying to relax so she could drift off to sleep. However, she was continually haunted by questions. Her foremost worry was, would they find her here? She also was concerned for her mother. What had happened to her? Was she just out somewhere? She did spend a lot of time visiting with some of the local seniors. Perhaps she was just not at home. A bigger problem that plagued her was how the heck did they know she was going to be there? The guy with the injured hand said they were expecting her. Then later, when she overheard their conversation at the stone wall, he said that they knew where she would be and when she would be there. Did they have her phone tapped? How could they have known? Who did she tell? She didn't even call her mother to say that she was coming up for a visit, it would be a surprise. 'Remember?' she told herself, 'you didn't want to get her worried'. So a phone tap would not have revealed her plans to come here.

In fact, the only people she did tell was that police guy, Dell and Will at the office as she was on her way out of the building. Could one of them somehow be mixed up in all this? It would be an impossibly odd coincidence if the detective she talked to was involved, and Viiradium was somehow at the bottom of all this when you considered the frantic message she received from Chris. Will was upper management at Viiradium. He must be involved or at least have some knowledge of the unfolding story. Slowly, the reality began to dawn. It seemed that all along what she thought was concern and assistance in helping her determine what had happened to Chris really turned out to be information she's been feeding Will to be used against her!

She thought back to Chris's e-mail message and struggled with an explanation. She had no idea what to make of it. She did not even know where to begin. What sort of 'clue' was he trying to send her. She tried to boil it down. He was a computer science graduate from one of the top schools in the country. He had strong math skills. He worked at a prestigious company. He was involved in the internal design and development of very complicated computer security and information protection systems which depended greatly on mathematics. That company apparently was involved in his disappearance. Was the 'tomb' he mentioned, being discovered at Viiradium, discovered by him? Or had Viiradium made a discovery and Chris found out about it? It had to be something to do with their line of business. That business was data protection based on computers and mathematics. She needed to understand more about exactly what Viiradium's products were and how they worked . They were popular, in fact their products led the industry. That was it! There was an industry of competitors. That meant that other companies produced similar products based on the same computer and math techniques.

She would check into these 'techniques' and see if she could determine the meaning of Chris' message. But how? Her car was smashed both front and back and lying in a field leaking gas somewhere. Killers were in pursuit. It sounded like they were frantic to find her. But why? She did not do anything. Of course! They wanted to know what she knew. Chris got a message to her under their noses and they want to know the damage. That's likely why they didn't simply shoot her in the head. They needed to know who else knew. Did she tell the police? Others at Viiradium? They were trying to control the damage. Apparently, whatever Chris discovered about them had enough impact to lead to desperate actions on their part.

Now that she had gone to the police, they would likely want to simply kill her to shut her up and prevent more damage. In fact, they practically did! The only problem was, she didn't really understand the information from Chris. She didn't really know anything other than it must be critically important. But the real problem was, they didn't know that she didn't know.

She still had anxious concern for her mother. Mara wanted to keep her out of all this, but somehow, she failed. If she could get to her mother's car. She could get transportation out of here. What if her mother and her car were missing? What if they were keeping watch on her mother's house in case Mara returned? She needed help but did not know where to turn. The police detective in Bedford, Dell, might be a good possibility, but could she trust him? Would he help her? So far, they hadn't been able to do much and she wondered how seriously they were taking this case.

*

Just after 7:30 that evening, Dell found the driveway to the house in Ashbury. He pulled in and found the house dark. He went to the door and knocked. The house seemed vacant. He tried the door but found it firmly locked. Funny that Mara never showed up here. Where could she be?

He got back into his car and sat and thought a minute. In the dark he could make out the shapes of other buildings on the property. It looked like a garage or a carriage house lay at the end of the driveway. To the left in the field behind the house he could make out the shape of a Barn. He flicked on his headlights which shone directly on the garage, but it seemed pretty well locked up as well.

He started the car and was about to pull the car into the turn around when he noticed the ruts throughout the back yard. He got back out of the car and leaving the headlights on, retrieved his flashlight from the trunk. He walked ahead and found a bunch of broken glass scattered in a small area of the drive. He couldn't tell if it was from a recent break or if it has been there a while. He walked the path of the tire tracks through the yard. He noticed a lot of convoluted tracks on the dirt drive on the other side of the yard which seemed to eventually lead off into the field.

It had started to rain as he arrived in Ashbury and it had rained earlier as well, so the tracks on the dirt drive must be fresh or they would have washed away more. It obviously was not used by any farm equipment. From what he could tell the farm fields were just overgrown and wild anyway. People just don't go tearing through the backyard in their cars, especially in November, without a good reason. If it was Mara, the reason may be that she was fleeing with her life, again.

Now that he had suspicion of foul play, he could probably enter the house. As a police officer he should have no legal trouble even if he didn't have jurisdiction here. At first he searched for a key but finding none, he tried the front windows that faced the porch. No surprise they were locked with the approaching winter weather just around the corner. He walked around the back of the house and found a back door. In spite of what people may have heard about picking locks, it simply was not that easy to do. However, the door fit the latch rather loosely and he was able to bend his driver's license around the door jam and slide the latch back. A credit card was too thick and rigid.

He entered the house and switched on the lights.

*

In the early morning, Mara awoke and stretched. Her joints protested in agony. The jarring from the crash left her pretty sore. She had to find a place to clean up, dress her wounds and get something to drink. Her sleep was fitful in spite of her exhaustion. Although sheltered from the cold, the hay did not provide much warmth, especially with her wet and bloodstained clothes. She climbed down the ladder and was surprised to find a boy tending to the farm animals. She must have really surprised him because he dropped the shovel he had been carrying and took a little jump back. He starred at her with his mouth open. She guessed he was probably around 13 or so, probably out doing chores before school. She realized that she must be quite a sight – blood matted into her hair. Wet and stained clothes.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Mara began, "but I need a little help..." The boy simply turned and ran from the barn. That went over well. Now what? She followed the path the boy had taken and in the dawn light caught a glimpse of him entering the house just across the yard. She approached the house and as she drew closer a woman, probably the boy's mother, came out. She didn't say anything to Mara, just looked.

Mara began again, "Excuse me..."

The woman cut her off, "Look, I don't know who you are and you look like you could use some help, but I don't know about letting you in here. I would be happy to call the police or an ambulance or something if you like."

"I understand I look like quite a fright, but I was run off the road and spent the night in the woods," she lied. "I've got broken glass from the car window stuck in a few spots, a cut in my head from the door frame of the car and I'm tired, wet and hungry. An ambulance sounds nice, but I don't think it is really necessary. If I could just wash, get into something dry and get some food I would really appreciate it." After a slight hesitation, she added, "I could pay you..."

Apparently her story was believed for the woman invited her in. "There's a bathroom down that hall. I don't know if we have any clothes for you, but I could loan a robe so you can get out of your wet things."

Mara was grateful for anything at this point. She accepted the offer of the robe and turned to go into the bathroom. The woman seemed to soften a bit and said, "My name is Sally by the way." She had an easy smile, long dirty blond hair and was slightly overweight. Mara guessed her to be in her late thirties.

Mara hesitated to give her name for a moment but then extended her hand and simply said "Mara."

Sally showed her where some of the first aid supplies were and left Mara to shower and dress her cuts. Getting the fragments of glass out of her side was quite painful and she couldn't suppress an occasional yelp. She didn't have a brush in her purse so, after showering, she wasn't sure what to do with her wet hair. She tried her best to run her fingers through it to straighten it. It was pretty painful where she banged and cut her head.

The bathrobe was actually pretty funny. Two of her could have been covered by its girth. She sort of wound the excess material around her and tied the belt.

Looking in the mirror, she could hardly recognize the image. Dark circles under her eyes, cheek and eye bruised and slightly puffy. Her lip looked a lot better but her hair didn't turn out right. However, anything was an improvement. As she finished she thought she could overhear Sally talking to someone. As she emerged from the bathroom, Sally was just hanging up the phone.

'Great', Mara thought, 'who was she talking to on the phone'? The more people learned about her, the more likely she would be discovered by the people who were after her.

Sally had some breakfast set out on the table for Mara. She didn't particularly care for oatmeal, but it was hot and with maple syrup mixed in, it wasn't bad. Mara greedily ate and finished her orange juice. Sally came out of a hallway that apparently led to the rest of the house and said, "I got your clothes washing. I hope the use of the water didn't affect your shower any. I wanted to get your clothes in the dryer as soon as possible."

Mara wondered about Sally's last name. She knew the names of most of the families around here and would probably recognize the name of this family, but she didn't want to be put in a position to reveal her last name to Sally. The less said the better. She got her purse and fumbled through for some money.

"Hey listen..." Sally began, "forget what I said earlier, it's just that you can't really trust people these days. You look like you could really use some help and I'm glad to do whatever I can. You don't need to leave me any money."

"Oh!, I really appreciate all that you've done. I feel so much better. But... I want to use your phone to make a couple of calls and one of the calls is to Massachusetts. I insist on at least paying for the cost of the phone call."

Mara pulled out a five and simply laid it on the table. After a brief hesitation, Sally responded, "Sure, the phone's right there." She indicated a phone on the wall in the kitchen.

"Do you know where my coat went too?" Mara asked. "It's have the number I need in one of the pockets."

Sally got it from a hanger in the hallway where she hung it to dry and brought it to Mara. Then Mara dug through the pockets and pulled out the business card Dell gave here along with a key. She had forgotten that the emergency key from her mother's porch was in her hand as she was surrounded by the thugs yesterday. She must have slipped the key into her coat pocket and never realized it..

It was a little after eight so she figured it would be a good time to try to reach Dell, so she called the number on the card. After a second ring, a female voice answered, "Bedford Police Department, how can I help you?"

"Hi, could I speak with Detective Taylor please?" Mara asked.

"I'm sorry, detective Taylor is not available right now, can someone else help you or I would be happy to take a message?"

"Actually, I would be happy to hold until he can take my call." Mara persisted.

"To be honest, he isn't in yet. Could I have your name and I will have him get back to you as soon as he arrives?"

"Oh. This is Mara Chandler, but I'm not at home. I'll try again a little later." She abruptly hung up the phone. She wasn't sure what to do. She was hoping to get a little help from someone. She felt uncomfortable hanging around here and imposing on the hospitality of Sally and her family. She went back and sat at the table and finished off the last bit of her breakfast.

*

Dell awoke with a start. He was cold, lying on the hard floor. He sat up and discovered his head had been laying in a small puddle of his own blood. He tried to think back to the last thing he could remember. He flipped on the light and the lights apparently went out for him as someone, someone who was just a dark blur coming from the left and a bit behind, clubbed him good alongside his head with what must have been what is generally referred to in police lingo as a 'blunt object'.

He tried to stand and felt a sharp stab of pain run through his head. His vision blurred and he stumbled into the wall. He remained still a moment and his vision cleared. It must have been quite a blow. He considered himself fortunate for even waking up at all.

He looked around what was evidently the kitchen. Obviously, there had been quite a struggle here. Drawers were pulled out and kitchen utensils were scattered everywhere. The table was shoved aside and its' contents pushed onto the floor. He noticed more blood, some on the counter some on the floor. Blood that wasn't his. There was an occasional drop here and there that seemed to lead out the back door he had come in last night. With the limited view the flashlight offered in the dark of night, he was focused on getting into the door and not a trail of blood, so it went unnoticed until now.

He went out the back and in the early morning light, found a couple of more drops on the steps that went to the ground. He had seen many crime scenes before, but this one made him sick. Not sick from getting his own head practically bashed in, though that hurt enough, but sick because he didn't get here in time to save her. Such a young, pretty girl. He could kick himself. He could have taken her more seriously. He should have insisted on a police escort for her. Now she was likely dead.

All he could do now is simply turn the case over to the local police. There was no town of any significance here, so probably the New Hampshire State Police would end up with this.

He went back inside to find the phone and never made it past the kitchen sink. He vomited in the kitchen sink and felt worse than ever. He probably had a concussion but the realization that he utterly failed this poor girl hit him with even more disappointment. Usually he investigated crimes, he didn't cause them. He cleaned up the sink and abruptly realized he was altering a crime scene. He checked his pockets and found he was still carrying his cell phone.

Before he phoned the crime in, he had to call the Bedford station and report. He did not expect to spend the night in Ashbury and would normally have been at the station by now. He called his own number knowing someone would be taking calls for his phone. Jeni answered the phone.

"Hi Jeni, It's Dell." He began.

"Dell! Where are you! The chief was looking for you and he seemed pretty upset."

"I'm in New Hampshire. I didn't plan to be here this long, but it was beyond my control." He didn't elaborate on being assaulted and spending most of the night on the kitchen floor. "There's a crime scene here that I still need to turn over to the locals, so as soon as I've finished, I'll be heading back."

"O.K. But before you go, the chief is here, and he really wants to talk to you, so hang on and I'll put you on with him."

Dell wondered what could be so urgent. He was hoping there wasn't some serious new crime back in Bedford that needed his immediate attention. "Sure, put him through..."

"Oh, wait, I almost forgot, you got a call from Mara Chandler. She seemed pretty anxious to talk to you."

He couldn't believe his ears. Was she alive? "When did she call!"

"Just a few minutes ago, you just missed her. I said I would have you call her, but she said she was away and that she would have to call you later."

He breathed a sigh of relief. She was OK. However, many questions flooded his mind: Then whose blood was scattered around the kitchen? The mother's? Where was Mara? Was she safe? "Thanks. If she calls back, tell her I'm in Ashbury for the morning. I suspect she's probably in this area somewhere. Try to pin her down with a phone number where I can call her back, or even better yet, patch her through to me on my cell."

"O.K., here's the Chief..."

"Hello, Dell?" came the voice of Chief Donaldson.

"Good morning." Dell replied.

"Listen Dell, I thought we had an understanding. You were supposed to lay off this Chandler case. I don't appreciate getting calls in the middle of the night to complain about your continued pursuit of this situation. We are turning this over to the State and that's final! Are we clear?"

Dell wondered what on earth was going on. Called in the middle of the night? Who would even know he was here? He felt the breast pocket of his sport coat and realized his wallet was missing. No, not missing, taken. It all began to fall into place. Someone cold-cocked him and took his ID. They found out he represented the Bedford police and put further pressure on to drop the case, or 'give it to the state' as the chief put it. That meant someone probably had some control over what happened once the case got to the state police. It would likely be quietly forgotten just like the last missing persons case at Viiradium of a few months ago.

"Dell? Are you there?" asked the chief.

"Yeah, I hear you. I get the message. I wasn't actually investigating the case, simply helping a victim on my own time."

"Dell, you know the policy on personal involvement with witnesses or victims of any open case. This better not in any way be in violation of those policies. After last night I've had enough!"

"No problem Chief. There is a crime scene here which I'm going to turn over to the locals right now. As soon as I'm finished, I'm heading back. See you later." He hung up without waiting for a reply. He didn't want to hear any more of the policy nonsense from the chief. He was already irate enough. Somehow, powerful corporate corruption was at work here. He was always a stickler for following procedure and staying 'by the book'. Being meticulously honest was his personal creed and he felt was, at least partly, what made him a successful detective. It angered him to realize that even his own department could be so easily affected.

He had a lot to do. Foremost was to find Mara. He also had to report this mess to the authorities. That would be easy. He used the phone in the kitchen to dial 911 and asked for the police. The 911 operator confirmed his address and name and asked for a reason for the call. He explained he needed the police to investigate an apparent crime scene, himself being a law enforcement officer from outside the area. She confirmed her intent to dispatch a patrol car and asked him to wait there until they had arrived.

Before he could reply, there was a sharp knocking at the front door. He hurriedly finished the call with the emergency operator and rushed through the living room to the front door. As he approached the door, he could see through the window, a county sheriff patrol car in the driveway behind his car. 'Wow the police respond fast around here!' he thought to himself. As he approached the door, he could overhear the muffled voice of the cops talking about entering the house.

To their surprise, he swung the door open and intended to greet them. However, they both had guns already drawn. They asked him to step outside with his hands raised and allow them to search his person. They found his gun and cell phone, but obviously, no wallet, no Police ID. They handcuffed him and led him to their waiting patrol car where they locked him in the backseat. No amount of protesting on his part could convince them to stop and think. They indicated that he would have to wait until they returned after having a look around.

As he sat waiting, he became simply infuriated. He was not only an innocent bystander, but a member of the law enforcement community. Their treatment of him was appalling. Why barge in and treat him as a criminal.

Then, from his seat in the back of the patrol car, he overheard the call over the police radio from dispatch to respond to Dell's call. That meant these police were not here as a result of his call to 911, but were here on some sort of coincidental basis. Did Mara's mother call the police from somewhere?

The two gray uniformed officers emerged from the house and returned to the patrol car. They opened the door and began to question him.

One of the officers, apparently named 'H. Hansen' from the name pin he wore above the breast pocket, asked his name.

Dell responded, "Detective Dell Taylor of the Bedford, Massachusetts Police department."

"What is your business here?" asked H. Hansen.

"I was working on a case involving a crime victim who was recently attacked. In fact, it was an aborted kidnapping attempt. She was planning to come here to stay with family for a few days to recover and relax. When I could not reach anyone here where she was expected to arrive, I got worried and drove up. I didn't think it was anything serious, probably just out for a while, but I had some time so I just thought I would just follow up."

He continued, "There were no cars when I got here, so I was about to leave when I noticed the broken glass and the mess someone made driving across the back yard and away through the field.

"I went around to the back door and entered the house because of the suspicion of foul play. When I walked in, I was attacked and left behind. It would seem that my assailant took my wallet with my police ID. When I came to, I phoned 911 to get you guys out here."

"We just received the call," said the other officer, the one wearing the radio on his belt.

H. Hanson asked, "Would that crime victim you spoke of be Ms. Mara Chandler?"

"Yes!" replied Dell.

"It would seem that she is wanted for questioning in the possible homicide of her mother. There's an APB out on her, that's why we came here. That's probably who cracked you over the head last night. We need to verify your story. Is that your car?" He indicated Dell's car in front of the patrol car. He drove up in his own car instead of using a police cruiser to maintain separation from the case.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing! Mara simply could not be involved. Pieces were rapidly fitting together in his mind, pieces of something larger, sinister, a plot that was still not understood. Getting her framed was a a smart plan when kidnapping attempts fail. "Yes, that's mine, since this was an unofficial visit, just out of my own concern, I did not drive one of our police units."

The other officer went to the car and opened the passenger door. They could check the registration with Massachusetts Motor vehicles, but simply looking at the registration would suffice. The officer noted that the car was indeed registered to him.

"Since you have no ID, we just need to confirm with your department if you don't mind." H. Hanson said.

"No problem, I can give you my office number, and in fact there should be a couple of business cards in the car someplace which are issued by our department." They graciously removed the handcuffs and accompanied him to the car while he found a business card. He handed it to the officer and one of them went inside. After a moment, he came back out and said, "Yeah Howard, this is really Detective Taylor."

Apparently, the 'H' stood for 'Howard' Hansen. They apologized for their treatment of him and explained that when he came to the door with blood in his hair, he looked much more like a participant of foul play than law enforcement. He hadn't even realized what he must look like after being cracked over the head. He remembered first sitting up and seeing that he had bled some from his head wound.

Dell wasn't quite sure where to go from here. He could explain the story from the beginning, but the corruption of the Massachusetts state police and the corporate involvement of Viiradium seemed a little far-fetched and he didn't think he could convince his own boss of any such relationship, let alone these two guys. So, instead, he decided to play along and see what he could find out.

They explained that the police had received an anonymous call claiming that Mara had apparently assaulted her mother viciously and left her for dead. However, their search of the house revealed no remains other than a few bloodstains. Dell explained that he was actually working with Mara on a case in Bedford involving the disappearance of her brother and tried to minimize his suspicions by describing only the most necessary details and finishing up with the fact that she was simply going to visit her mother's for a few days while things settled down and the Bedford police could hopefully make some progress. He left out the details he knew that implicated possible government corruption or even involvement of Viiradium Corp.

However, his efforts to clear her of any blame only resulted in further suspicions. Now the sheriff was thinking that Mara herself may have actually had something to do with the disappearance of her brother Chris. Perhaps the fact that she reported him missing to the police was only her attempt to direct any attention away from her.

They had Dell's number and appreciated the information he supplied. They would expand the APB to include Massachusetts, but agreed that it would only be a bulletin indicating she was wanted for questioning and not considered dangerous. The sheriff, Howard, retrieved a roll of yellow crime scene border ribbon from the patrol car to span and officially seal the doors of the house. The other officer was calling for assistance on the radio. It sounded like the New Hampshire state police would be sending in their investigations unit and would even likely end up in charge of the case. They were interested in a forensic investigation of the house as well as a detailed examination of the tracks that led back through the field beyond the old barn. More investigators would be showing up soon.

The officers wanted Dell to clear his car out of the way so they could examine all of the tire imprints, though little was left of any actual tread marks with the rain last night. He discovered his car wouldn't start and then remembered looking at the tracks in the yard under the light of his headlights. Since he was knocked cold, he never did get a chance to turn them off. The officers were not pleased and didn't want to disturb the scene any more, so they collectively pushed his car down the driveway a bit. Someone would have to give him a jump when they got a free moment.

Dell wanted to make another call to the Bedford station. One thing for certain, he could not believe that Mara was involved with the abduction and possible murders of Chris Chandler or Mara's mother. He had to find out where she was. Hopefully, she would have called back to the station by now and with any success, Jeni convinced her to leave word with her location. He hoped he could make the call without either of the other officers overhearing his conversation. But he had no cell phone. He could ask for one of their cell phones, but it would be more private to return to the house to use the phone inside. He thought they would be OK with him cossing the police tape, but he wasn't going to risk asking permission. He just made the assumption and wen inside.

As Jeni answered the phone, Dell said, "Hi Jeni, it's Dell. I just wanted to check in one more time before I left."

*

Mara needed to get moving. Her immediate plan involved transportation and a place to stay. It seemed she could really trust no one. She would need to depend on only herself. She couldn't stay at her mother's or Chris'. Her own place was certainly out of the question as well. That left trusting in someone or just simply holing up. She thought paying cash for a cheap room was the safest thing. Transportation would be a bigger problem. Her car was likely beyond repair, at least immediately anyway. She should do the stuff you were supposed to do when you wrecked your car like call a towing company, perhaps the police, make an insurance claim. She couldn't begin to face any of that.

Her next concern was for her mother. She had no idea where she might be or even if she was unharmed. After looking outside in the daylight, she recognized where she was. Sally's house was in fact the old Holbrook Farm on the highway that intersected the street her mother lived on. She was really only a few miles and through the field and woods (the way she came) even less than that from her mother's. She wondered if Sally and her family were related to the Holbrook's. Mara didn't want to ask for fear of having Sally ask more personal details of Mara.

She thought about using the phone to find a car dealer in the area that might rent her a car. She was going to have to do something in the meantime. Her insurance company would likely cover the cost. She had no information about her insurance with her, she would either have to get back to her car or her apartment, both of which seemed rather dangerous at the moment. Typically renting a car would mean they would require a credit card. She did have one, but she was paranoid enough now not to want to use it.

Since it looked like she was forced to trust someone, she felt that the police were still her best choice. She wanted to talk to Detective Taylor, but he was back in Bedford and unable to do too much for her here. She wanted to go back to her mother's but wondered if she should be calling the police to report the incident from last night. She settled on making another call to the Bedford station to hopefully talk with Detective Taylor and see if he might have a suggestion about the local situation.

The same female voice answered the call, "Bedford Police Department, how can I help you?"

"Hello, this is Mara Chandler. I wonder If I could speak with Dell Taylor if he is in?"

"Oh, Ms. Chandler! Dell is actually in New Hampshire this morning and insists that you leave a number where he can reach you. When he calls in, I will give him the message."

That was interesting. Why was he in New Hampshire? This was odd to say the least. It made her uncomfortable, but she felt there was little choice. She gave the woman the phone number and a description of her location. The woman thanked her and hung up.

She found Sally taking care of more laundry and asked about any possibilities for renting a car. Since Mara's was wrecked, she was hoping there might be a local dealer or garage that might be able to supply one. Sally thought that perhaps some of the dealers in Middleton might be able to help since it was a bigger town. She had a phonebook for Middleton so Mara could search the yellow pages without calling directory assistance. Sally didn't mention anything about looking online for information, so Mara felt that the internet did not play much of a role here on the farm. The phone book Mara was handed was rather thin, but the yellow pages section did contain a few car dealers. So she began making calls.

Activity was a good thing. It took her mind off her immediate problems. After a while she had made arrangements for a car, but she would need to get herself there and have a driver's license and credit card. Duh! How did she not realize? Her original purse was gone – with her driver's license. She only had the battered spare purse she dragged through the night with her with the credit card she dug out of her desk, some temporary checks from her new bank account and the printout of Chris' message – but no license. This was not going well. She got off the phone in frustration and Sally came out with her clothes from the dryer.

"All of the stains didn't come out, but they're pretty faint for the most part," Sally said.

"Thank You so much for all your help! I can't tell you how much I appreciate all you've done for me. Let me change, I can give you your robe back. As soon as I can find a ride, I'll be out of your hair." She took the clean clothes and returned to the bathroom to change. As she finished, she thought she heard voices again. Sally's and someone else she couldn't quite make out. 'Now who's she talking with?' Mara wondered.

She stepped out of the bathroom and simply starred, dumbfounded at the disheveled male figure of a battered looking Dell Taylor standing in the entryway adjacent to the kitchen.

"Hi Mara!" was all he said. She thought he looked like hell, perhaps even a little blood matted into his hair. She said to herself, 'no doubt Sally's thinking, "Here we go again."'

Dell continued, "I would have gotten her a little sooner, but my battery was dead. Had to wait for a jump start."

"What are you doing here? How did you get here so fast? Have you been to my mother's place?"

"Slow down a second Mara. There's a few things you should know." He hesitated a moment to breathe and collect his thoughts. This sort of reflective pause made Mara very nervous. It was the sort of look the State Trooper gave you when he knocked on the door to say that your loved one was just killed in an auto accident.

"It's my mother isn't it..." began Mara.

"I'm afraid it's even worse than that," said Dell.

Mara thought to herself 'worse?' How could it be worse? Dell continued, "The police are over at your mother's place right now. I'm afraid your mother was found dead."

She simply stared, her jaw slacked.

He looked down to avoid eye contact. Then he returned his gaze and went on, "There's more..."

Mara immediately thought of Chris. The only thing 'more' and 'worse' could mean was that Chris was found dead too.

With a voice that struggled through attacks of parched cracks, Dell went on, "You're the prime suspect in the investigation of your mother's murder. It seems they found your car in the back field behind the house, abandoned with your mother's dead body inside."

Mara couldn't believe what she was hearing. The room began to spin and she suddenly felt sick. Whoever they were, they were playing a very high stakes deadly game. Killing anyone was nothing for them. Somehow she was to blame. She let this happen. She should never have come here. They knew she would be here, they 'expected' her arrival. Now her mother, murdered.

And the police, what a bunch of asses! What did they think? She could just toss her dead mother over her shoulder and carry her out to her car? Mara barely tipped the scales past 120 pounds, yet she would have no problem wielding a 140 pound body? The whole "investigation" of the disappearance of Chris was another apparent dead end. Instead of investigating what really happened, what were they doing? They didn't seem to treat her seriously and now she was the one wanted by the police. So why was Dell here? To arrest her?

The more she weighed the situation, the more her nausea became fuel for her helpless rage.
Chapter 14

The conversation was between Damian and a table mounted conference room speaker phone.

"Are we on a secure connection?" asked the speakerphone. The unmistakable tone of authority, even over a speakerphone, seemed to take command of the room.

"No problem, Red" replied Damian. "The connection is clear"

"Give me an update. How bad is it?"

Damian replied, "Well, the mother put up quite a struggle when our guys got there. She was so fierce, they ended up roughing her around a bit... and she died."

"Did it not seem obvious to you that our purpose was to get to the girl and not kill her mother? I can see where the girl gets her fortitude from, sounds like birds of a feather. So far she's singlehandedly defeating all of _you._ What are we doing for control? How clean are we?"

"Well, we fixed up the scene a bit so that the New Hampshire police are looking for the girl as the prime suspect."

Red had about enough. The speakerphone exploded, "Fixed up the scene! What's wrong with you guys! Any time you 'fix up a scene' it won't stand up to a close investigation. With a murder, that means forensic specialists. That means high profile. The murder of a poor old woman! Everyone feels bad and wants justice!"

"Well, we had a bit of a surprise. That cop right there in Bedford showed up at the scene last night. He must have come after the girl. We put a lot more pressure on the Bedford police to drop the case. He'll have his hands full just taking care of himself now."

"So what you're telling me is that as soon as she gets picked up by the police, she can spill her guts and really put us in deep."

"Well, not really. She is their only suspect right now. Besides, we believe that she doesn't actually know anything. She certainly has no evidence to tie either of our companies into this. Viiradium hasn't really had anything to do with what's happened up until now, and with no proof..."

"Every time I talk to you, you say 'not to worry', but we keep having this conversation. It's the same conversation about the same girl. Now it's time to get rid of her. No more of the bumbling, hire a professional and end this permanently. Preferably before the police ever get a chance to pick her up. I don't think I need to tell you that there can be no ties to us, so hire it out, in cash, anonymously."

"Unfortunately, we don't know for sure where she is right now. We have an eye on her mother's farm and on her own place, plus the fact that the phone, voice mail and e-mail for her office are all being monitored. We also have information being fed to us from both the Bedford police station as well as the Massachusetts State police. She'll have to turn up soon."

"I don't want to have another conversation like this again. The next time we talk, it better be because the situation is completely under control."

Damian Asked, "What about the brother?"

"We've still got him. He's valuable right now. Sort of what we like to call "intellectual property."

"Isn't that a little dangerous?"

"He's in the hole and not going anywhere at the moment. When we're finished with him, we'll find a way for him to 'disappear' if needed." The speakerphone continued, "Right now our big concern is getting rid of the girl before she starts to make accusations. Do I need to remind you what would happen if this were ever discovered? You said yourself earlier – Viiradium is not directly involved. But you? Your company would collapse like the house of twisted cards that it is."

The speaker phone went dead in the characteristic manner Red had of terminating his calls abruptly with no 'good byes'.

Damian sat back and reflected a moment on the situation. It turned out that I-Data Corp was becoming very profitable. Of course if it was discovered how that profit were generated, that would be most unfortunate indeed. Since becoming the Chief Executive, he wasn't doing bad himself. But Red was right. As chief of I-Data, he had the most exposure. Sure, he could implicate Viiradium, in fact, some of the Viiradium execs were 'silent' partners. Silent from the fact that they were not listed anywhere as participating executives or board members.

Yes, Red was right. They weren't in the business of killing, but it was too late to change that now, people have already died. Mara Chandler would have to be next.
Chapter 15

As a member of the law enforcement community, Dell was familiar with the distress of delivering bad news. This time was different. This time, he felt at least partially responsible. This time his distress bordered on sickness in his extreme trepidation about bringing this ugly news to her. He should have done more in terms of prevention to protect innocent people. He was not buying into the story that Mara was the assailant in the case of the older Missus Chandler.

He noticed that Mara had a lot of minor injuries. He wondered what really happened last night and he wanted to ask her, but right now, the impact of the situation turned her skin the color of bread dough. He thought perhaps she might vomit right there. He didn't know what to do next besides standing there stupidly with her just looking at him. He could sense the woman that let him in was around someplace, but she must have retreated to another room when she overheard him give Mara the awful news.

Mara completely shocked him by reaching out with her left hand, firmly grabbing a handful of his shirt near the collar, and holding it for a moment. Then, looking him deeply in the eye, she slapped him with a surprising jolt with her right hand. He watched in sort of slow motion as her face, contorted with emotion, screamed at him.

"What's the matter with you!" she paused a moment to catch her wits. "How could you let this happen! I came to you for help and you've done nothing!" Her voice was distorted by lips twisted with anger and sorrow. Her cheeks flushed with rage. She still had a hold of him by the collar of his shirt. She pounded on his chest with her fist and screamed, "WHY!"

Dell was completely caught off guard by the violence and emotion of her reaction. He knew she would be upset, anyone would. But he wasn't in the habit of just standing there during a physical attack. He was, after all, an officer of the law. He would normally not permit such behavior. He looked down at her with her face a mask of madness, yet softened with tears running down her cheeks. The only thing he could do was wrap his arms around her and draw her close. He whispered softly, "I'm sorry" and gently stroked her still damp hair. Her body shook as she was racked with emotional sobs over the loss of her mother and no doubt for Chris as well.

*

She had little choice but to go with him. As they rode in silence together in his car, she felt stretched in all directions at once. Terror of her mother's killers, apprehension at being "captured" by the police on the suspicion of murder, rage at whoever was really responsible, guilt for leading these people to her innocent mother and almost incomprehensible sadness over her loss. She couldn't even make funeral arrangements. Doing so would expose her to capture and she too desperately wanted revenge on whoever was responsible. At this moment, for the first time in her life, she thought that she could actually kill someone. Particularly the rotten bastards that twice tried to abduct her in as many days.

She glanced over at the cop she was riding with and wondered what was running through his mind. Would he turn her in? Did he too believe she was somehow responsible? A murder suspect in her mother's killing?And what happened to him when he came up last night? Obviously, he took a beating from the look at the remaining evidence of his blow to the head. She had to force herself to communicate with him to find out the answers to these immediate questions.

She looked away from him and talking to the side window of the car she said, "What are they doing about my mother's remains?"

He glanced at her and considered her obvious standoffish body language. He just gave her the plain facts, "Since there is an ongoing murder investigation, she would normally be kept by the county coroner. As soon as you are able to make the necessary arrangements, you can work directly with them to have her remains released to the undertaker."

"As soon as I can?!" she spat through tightened lips. "Since the police think I'm the guilty one, I don't think that's likely to happen very 'soon' at all!" If her eyes could emit lightning bolts, he would have been severely burned.

Not knowing how to respond, he simply did nothing. She immediately felt a little bad for being so sharp with him. Right now, she actually needed his support, so she made a meek apology.

After a few moments she asked, "How did you get hurt?"

"I drove up to check on you last night because no one was answering the phone. I saw a bunch of tire ruts through the back yard and broken glass in the driveway. I got suspicious and jimmied the lock on the back entry door. I walked in, flipped on the lights and... well, somebody waiting inside cracked me good in the head." After a pause, he added, "The police suspect it was you, you know."

She was gripped in a momentary vise of embarrassment. Apparently he was going out of his way for her. He didn't have to drive all the way up to simply 'check up' on her. He wasn't pressuring her with a million questions. In fact, he was being surprisingly patient. She decided he was deserving a little less blame and a little more respect than she had been giving him.

She said, "I suppose you want to know my story of what happened."

"I figure you'll tell me. I know that this has been quite a shock for you to take in and I understand your need to kind of 'sort things out'. I must tell you though, I do not believe the accusations against you." He didn't explain his reasons reaching this conclusion were because of the surreptitious and seemingly corrupt activity to get him to drop the case and the fact that the previous missing persons case from several months ago was swept under the rug too. Stealing his ID when he was knocked out and then going through political channels to have him removed from the investigation was a bold move that indicated a surprisingly powerful and influential adversary. Obviously, someone was doing a superb job of getting both Mara and the police out of the way. Just think, they could make the accusation that she did away with her brother, killed her mother and even assaulted a police officer. That was quite a lot of keeping someone out of the way.

She appreciated his patience and began her story, "When I got to the house late yesterday afternoon, they were waiting for me. I barely escaped by driving through the field..." She related the events, the fact that they smacked their car up, she escaped into the night and hid in Sally's barn.

After she finished, Dell related how there was only her car in the back field. That they must have somehow retrieved their car during the night before the police arrived in the morning. After a moment, he somberly related the fact that her mother's body was discovered inside her damaged car by the police as they traced the activity of the tire tracks to the old stone wall.

He wanted more information. "I'm interested in some of the details. Was it the same guys that were at your apartment the other night? Did they say anything to each other? Anything at all could be important. What about the car? Any details that might help an investigation?" After asking these questions, he thought to himself, 'what's the use?' he was off the case. Who knows, he might even be suspended by the time he got back to the station. He didn't know if he had enough resources to investigate this on his own if he couldn't act with police authority.

She described their car. Large, nondescript, American. She again described how she recognized the man that spoke to her and assaulted her as the same man who got his hand slammed in the car door the other night. How she saw her moment to make a break for it and them smashing her window. She tried to remember some of the details of the conversation she overheard as she lay on the ground, cowering just on the other side of the old stone wall after their car smashed into it.

"They were talking about getting equipment up here for a search," she said.

"Equipment?"

"Yeah, they said something about night gear and more help."

"Night gear? Wow! these guys are really getting desperate. Sounds like they have the resources too."

"I remember a couple of names, the one guy was telling the other guy to get a hold of someone named 'Sonner'. He also said that another guy, maybe sounded like 'Ed' or even 'Red', needed to be told that they lost me again. Come to think of it, that was the name of the person they talked about on the phone that night outside my place when I was trapped by the fence! Remember? I mentioned to you before. It was 'Red'"

"Well that's a start, but without full names, it's going to be tough. I can check with some of the Bedford locals to see if those names mean anything to anyone. What about a license tag on the car?"

"No, sorry." Her head snapped in his direction as she exclaimed, "Oh my gosh! I almost forgot! I went into the office yesterday. I was having my past, deleted e-mails restored by our information services department and yesterday was the only day they would be available before automatically being deleted again. You are not going to believe this, but in those messages, was an e-mail from Chris. He used some sort of anonymous mail delivery service to get a message to me. I'm not sure why, but probably to make the communication harder to track back to him or harder to trace to me."

She sort of checked herself after revealing this much. Was this the right person to be telling this too? Would Dell do anything helpful with the information?

He looked at her and said, "Well? What did the message say!"

She paused, hesitant to show her cards to someone that she did not fully trust. She already went this far, she figured she might as well tell all. "It was a short message, in fact I printed it out and stuffed into my purse earlier." She rummaged through her still damp purse and retrieved the message. "It's pretty cryptic. All it says is something about 'The Tomb of Rivest' being discovered at Viiradium."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, I know it's not much, but at least it shows a definite tie with Viiradium. He ended the message with 'they know I'm here...'. He also went through extraordinary means to get the message to me. So, that implies some guilt, at least to me, on the part of Viiradium. If I only knew what he was trying to tell me, then we would know where to go next."

As they rode along, she wondered where she would go. She still needed a car, she needed a place to stay. A car she would have to rent. For that matter, rent the place to stay too. Her place and Chris's place were too dangerous. And she could not trust Will at all. The growing implication was that Will knew a lot more about this than he indicated. How else did they know that she would be at her mother's yesterday!

"I need to stop by my place." Mara said.

"Are you nuts? After all that's happened? They were using night gear to try to find you. They think you know something and they don't want it going any further. They've killed your mother and they wouldn't hesitate to kill you! Why do you need to go home?"

"I just wanted to pick up a few things. Some clothes, personal things and paperwork. I need to get my car insurance info so I can call and get them to authorize a rental for me. I need to get to the bank for more cash, get to a phone to make some calls..."

He was amazed how clearly she was able to think at a time like this. She must be on some sort of emotional overdrive. "I'll tell you what." He began, "I'll drop you off where it's safe and run over to your place and pick up whatever you need. I'll make sure I'm not followed and get everything back to you."

At first, she wasn't too keen on the idea of some guy rummaging through her things. What was absolutely necessary? Just some clothes and her file box. He could stuff everything into a duffel and be out in a couple of minutes. She realized she had little choice at the moment. He was right about it being too dangerous to go there herself.

"What did you have in mind when you said you were going to drop me off where it's 'safe'?"

"We'll just swing by my place. I should only be gone for 25 minutes or so. You can use my phone while I get your things. In fact if you want you can just stay at my place for a few days. I've got a pull out to sleep on."

He surprised himself. What was he thinking? She was a suspect! A witness! He couldn't make such an invitation to a person involved in a case. But... he felt so bad for her. She seemed so small and helpless. He was the one that even suggested her mother's place to begin with and he was the one who didn't show up until it was too late. The least he could do was help her. He wanted to get to the bottom of this case somehow, it was just going to be a little tough now that he was officially off the case.

Mara started to resist the whole thing. "I don't know about this..." she protested. She wasn't completely sure she could really trust anyone, even him. Staying at his place was really out of the question.

Dell responded, "Why don't I drop you off there, and you can think about it while I go fetch what you need from your place."

They were getting close to Bedford and she had to do something. "OK... just for now though . I'm not staying the night."

The remainder of the ride was made in silence. As they approached Dell's street, he glanced over at Mara and saw tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them back, trying not to make them obvious. He felt bad. First getting slapped around, then to spend the night in the woods, then finding out your mother was killed and finally learning you were the prime suspect. Whoever they were, they were doing a bang up job destroying the lives of the Chandler family.

"I'm going to drop you off here and then go get your things and bring them back for you. Then I want to run down to the station and work on clearing your name from all this. There must be evidence at the scene to support your side of the story. I'll do what I can.

"Oh, this is Great" Mara thought to herself, "my mother's house is now considered a 'scene'."

They parked in the drive of a rather large house. Dell explained, "It's not mine, I only have the apartment around back." They entered the apartment which Mara was surprised to find was well designed and quite a likable place. A combined kitchen, eating and living area. The living room had a high ceiling. The small kitchen and eating area were tucked under an upper loft which must contain the bedroom and bath areas. A stairway led up to the loft which overlooked the living room below. Small, but very thoughtfully laid out. For an unmarried man, he seemed surprisingly neat too. Almost fastidious. Decorations were sparse and tended to be quite modern, with the furniture and drapery being mostly light colors. A large built-in bookshelf area contained not only books, but a portion was made to act as home office with a work surface complete with computer monitor, keyboard and mouse.

Dell explained that he had to take a quick shower and if she needed to use the bathroom, go ahead before he occupied it.

While he showered, she sat down to consider her next moves. She needed a more permanent place to stay. Somewhere she could feel completely safe. She would need cash. Using credit might not be safe. Not only was she pursued by killers, but the police were looking for her as well. That was going to make renting a car difficult. They usually would not rent without a credit card. She would need to find transport somehow.

Next she had to do some investigating. She had to find out more about the details of Viiradium's products. How did they work, who were the main customers. How could she find out the meaning of Chris' cryptically coded message? It seemed like an archaeological clue, but Viiradium had nothing to do with archaeology, so there had to be a hidden meaning. Perhaps someone at a competitor of Viiradium's would be able to shed some light.

She found a scrap of paper and wrote down the things she needed. She dumped her purse on the kitchen table to take an inventory. A solitary Visa card. Slightly damp set of checkbook refills for her now closed out checking account. A few temporary checks for her new account so she should be able to get money from the bank. Her keys she managed to somehow grab as she left her crumpled car. The wrinkled, printed e-mail from Chris. A few makeup items she grabbed in haste as she left her apartment yesterday. The temporary security card she had made for herself to get back into the office. And lastly, the business card she had in her pocket earlier with the Bedford Police symbol and Dell's name and office number.

Dell came padding down the stairs looking refreshed. He had very short brown hair, so he couldn't really hide the wound on his head from last night, but it didn't look too bad. She found herself gazing a little longer than she should and self-consciously turned away when he noticed. By comparison, she wondered how bad she looked. Her face was still pretty tender and she had a lot of cuts and scratches, some from glass, some from the woods.

"You're going to have a tough time renting a car," Dell said. "I was hoping you might just stay here to lay low for a while."

"I appreciate your concern and your offer, but I simply can't." She didn't quite know what to say. She can't because she couldn't fully trust him? She can't because she didn't normally stay the night in a strange man's apartment? She decided not to say anything at all.

"Where will you stay then?" Dell asked.

"I'll find a room to rent for awhile."

"That's going to cost you some..."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine."

"Well, if you feel you must go, I have a car you can borrow, I don't think you will find success at the car rental company. If they rent you a car, the police will be on to you. With the apparent resources of our adversaries, they may be watching for a car rental too."

She found it curious that he would refer to 'our' adversary. Could there be more that he wasn't revealing? At least he seemed willing to help a poor innocent fugitive, at least for now. Perhaps he really did believe in her innocence and that she was being set up. "It's an old sports car, pretty temperamental, but it will get you where you need to go. Can you drive a stick?"

This was generous and would solve the immediate problem. "Are you sure it's OK? I don't want to take advantage..."

"Take advantage?" he interrupted. "You are wanted by the police. You are wanted, dead or alive, by a band of serious killers. Do you realize the danger you are in? You have no ties to a borrowed car, so you'll be less conspicuous."

She had to agree this was again, the only logical choice she had at the moment. Of course he would be one that did know about the car being loaned so there had to be an even deeper investment in his trust now. This made her uncomfortable. "OK. Thanks. I really appreciate your help." This feeling of being completely helpless was getting old. The other day, she depended on Will. She depended on Sally this morning and now she depended on Dell. She didn't like it at all. She was used to being independent. She considered herself even a little tough. She didn't feel so tough now.

She gave him the scrap of paper with the list she made along with the key. She explained where to find things and felt herself flush a little when she described the location of her clothes. She wasn't too keen on someone pawing through her underwear, but, they were just clothes.

He left with the promise of returning in no more than forty minutes. Her place wasn't that far from here. He instructed her to stay put, don't answer the phone, unless it was his cell phone caller ID on the display, then she could pick it up then. Then he was gone. He hadn't yet given her the keys to his other car. She didn't have her things. She felt a little claustrophobic. A little trapped.

She turned on the TV to distracter her and let her mind wind down a bit. Late morning TV didn't have too much to offer as she flipped through channels. One station was playing a political add. She thought, 'They're starting already? Election is a year away yet!' She was about to aim the remote at the TV once again to change channel when a somewhat familiar voice on the ad said: "As a successful businessman, I understand how to turn our state's financial crises around. Job's, personal safety, a strong state economy. When was the last time you felt you could trust your state to care for our needs? That's why I'm running for Massachusetts State Governor... To make a difference in your life."

Who was that voice? The deep professional sounding voice of the ad announcer completed the spot by saying: "Make a difference in your life. Elect Bob Danvers for Governor."

Mara blinked in complete surprised. Chairman and Chief executive of Viiradium running for political office. Governor no less! She just switched off the TV and starred at the blank screen for a few moments. Could this have anything to do with the events she had been experiencing the past week or so? Mr. Danvers (as everyone respectfully referred to him) seemed like a good guy. Treated the company well, was visionary enough to forge into an uncertain future and reap huge rewards. He always was quick to give credit for the company success to the employees. "It's our people that make us successful" he would often say. She didn't notice on the ad, but figured he would probably be running as Republican or an Independent. In fact, she admired his leadership qualities enough so that she would probably even vote for him although she leaned more on the democratic side.

She got up and paced around the apartment, glancing out the window from time to time. She became electrified with apprehensions. Rather that offer a distraction, the TV only turned up the heat, so to speak. A lot more was happening than meets the eye. She had to find out what Chris knew. Whatever it was that he knew, they thought she knew and they were apparently willing to kill her to shut her up. If she could get back to his apartment or even his work area at the office, she could take a good look through his things for a clue. Both seemed out of the question now. Perhaps she could get Dell to check out the apartment. She could get to the office, but was nervous about it. If she went during the middle of a busy day, there's not much they would be able to do. However, her security ID would make an entry in the computer logs and she would be on video as she entered the building. The other day she got in during the day with no security card. But with all of the daily activity, would anyone notice?

She thought about something to do. Perhaps another shower. Even though showering a Sally's not long ago, she continued to 'feel' dirty. But she really wanted some of her clothes first. She felt funny about borrowing something of his to wear, so she waited. After what seemed like an eternity, the promised forty minutes had passed. Mara's anxiety level began to ratchet up a notch with worry. Where was Dell? Had he run into trouble? She rummaged through the kitchen to find something to eat to keep herself occupied. After an hour and 15 minutes, she began to feel panic. Did he leave the keys someplace for the car he was loaning her? Should she get out or wait a little longer. How long? After nearly an hour and a half, he finally returned. He politely knocked first, then unlocked the door. It must seem weird to knock on your own front door.

"Sorry I'm late." He began.

"Sorry you're late?" she said while trying not to let her anger show through.

"Here are your things. I had no problem till I left. I'm sure I was followed, but they were professionals. I could never get a license tag number. I had to do a bit of driving around to lose them. I eventually made it over to your brother's place and sort of "let" myself in. I wanted to get a look around and see if there was anything there we could use to help us figure this out."

As she began to relax a little, she asked. "What did you see? Was anything worth looking at?"

"Well, I figure, someone has already searched the place. If there was anything really incriminating, they would have taken it already. I was just hoping for something that might be a clue. I actually grabbed a bunch of scattered papers that were laying near his computer and threw them in the bag too. I wasn't sure if I was followed from Chris', so I took precautions to lose any potential surveillance teams."

This brought the reality of the situation back hard. They really were watching her place. They had resources to watch Chris' place at the same time. She had to hide.

"I'm going to get into some clothes that don't have tears in them." She said as she took the duffel bag and turned to head for the stairs.

"Hang on just a second." Dell said. "I want to give you these keys for the car. Starting it can be tricky. The choke doesn't work well, so you have to 'feather' the gas pedal a little till she warms up." She was a girl, so he felt he had to explain that 'feathering' the pedal meant giving it tiny pumps to provide enough gas but not enough air so as to keep the gas mixture from getting too lean. Once it warmed up, the gas could run more lean and away she goes. Mara thought he sounded like a weekend mechanic or something.

Dell explained he was going to the office to try to organize some sort of clandestine investigation. Since he was officially off the case, he was willing to allow a witness (and some might say 'suspect') to use his personal resources. This went against all training and reason, but he also felt a measure of responsibility. He knew it was simply the right thing to do. At this moment, she was helpless and more of a victim than anything else. Since she declined his invitation to stay there, he asked that she call and let him know where she eventually settled. He gave her his office number, home number and cell number. "If you need anything at all, you just call me. Do you understand?"

She nodded agreement and he was out the door. Again. She made sure it was locked and headed for the shower.

After getting cleaned up and applying a little makeup from the package Dell brought from her place, it was time to get clear and lay low for a while. She took her purse, duffel and the keys Dell left and went out to the back. Inside the leftmost garage door, she found what must have been the car he was loaning her... and her heart sank. It was a beat up sports car from what looked like the late 60's perhaps, likely a restoration 'project' for a weekend mechanic. It had a convertible roof and pile of old newspapers loaded onto the lid of the trunk. There was some other materials you typically see in a garage stacked in disorganized piles behind the car that she would need to move as well. As neat as he was... she supposed this could all be landlord junk since Dell obviously was 'collecting' the car and not driving it.

After making a path, she got behind the wheel and turned up her nose at the musty engine and oil smell. After many tries, with the battery about to die, the little car coughed to life. She was flipping the gas pedal with her foot to coax some vitality from the engine. After it warmed up a bit, she turned and looked through the dirty back window to make her way out of the garage. She did not have much experience driving a standard, so she sort of lurched out of the garage and stalled. The car started with relative ease and she fought with the stick to get it into first. Driving this car is going to drive me nuts, she thought to herself sardonically.

Her first destination was the bank. She wanted to convert as much as she could to cash. She could write herself a check against the amount in her checking account. She could also do a cash advance against her credit card, especially since she was nervous about someone finding her by tracing card activity. Using the card just once to get cash would be the safest way. She went to a branch of her bank by taking a circuitous route to insure she wasn't being followed. She cashed a check for eight hundred fifty dollars and decided to leave the credit card alone for now. The next thing she wanted was sleep.

*

Instead of hitting the pillow and recovering some of her needed strength, she sat on the dingy bed of the faded, graying room with the papers from Chris' apartment spread out in front of her. The place had a moldy, unused smell. But the tired little motel seemed out of the way and the price was right. They had rooms for rent by the week, no questions, pay with cash, in advance. Just what she needed right now.

She didn't know what to make of any of the papers in front of her. There were store receipts that simply hadn't been thrown away. A copy of a couple of billing statements from the phone company. Several pages of what apparently were some notes from meetings at Viiradium. Miscellaneous scraps with reminders scribbled on them in the tight illegible scratch that she recognized as Chris'. Nothing that would reveal any new information. Dell was right. If there was anything useful or incriminating here, it would already have been taken when Chris' place had been searched.

She didn't know where to go next. The only clues she had were the cryptic e-mail message and the fact that Viiradium seemed involved. Still the best thing to do now was learn about your enemy. She had to become familiar with some of the in-depth details about the Viiradium products as well as financial data on the company. It was interesting that Bob Danvers was running for State Governor. She wondered again if there was any connection.

She knew going back to Viiradium would be dangerous. Probably too dangerous. She could probably find out a lot just from the competitors. Was she supposed to go undercover? Posing as a reporter doing an article for one of those computer trade magazines that featured advertisements of huge racks of data center equipment? She didn't really feel qualified, and there was no one to back up her story should anyone ask for a reference. She could go to the universities. She herself was a graduate of MIT with a pretty good background in math, perhaps a professor could shed some light. She wondered what Dell was doing with the investigation and thought perhaps she should call.

She gathered up the papers that she had spread out in front of her. A few fluttered off the bed to the floor. As she hastily scooped them up, something caught her eye. It was a pencil sketch drawn on the back of one of the pages with meeting notes on the front of it. I was almost like a flowchart only a little different. She couldn't figure out the purpose. Some sort of process flow diagram? What struck her was the word 'tomb' scribbled on the page in a rectangular box that had been circled a couple of times.
Chapter 16

Things did not go well at the station. Dell met with the chief and listened to him spew vulgarities at his insubordination. Dell ended up clearly removed from having anything to do with the case and was dangling barely within an inch of a suspension.

As Dell sat at his desk he was simply bewildered. He had been one of the best crime solving detectives ever to walk through the door. He was a perfectionist when it came to rules and procedures, he considered them essential for success. Now he was dumbfounded. He always had a good relationship with the chief. They were almost friends. Would have been if not for the fact Dell was a subordinate. Apparently someone from the mayor's office really put the chief through the wringer. That pressure must have come from 'behind the scenes' somehow. Strong politics were in play here and he didn't like getting caught in the middle. But squeezed even more, was Mara. For her, her very life was at stake. It was clearly an injustice that she was being treated like this with no civil protection from the very agencies put in place to protect its citizens.

He had to admit that he didn't like risking his profession over a single investigation, but she had no one else to turn to. It really infuriated him that someone or some organization could get away with kidnapping and killing and who knows what else without regard to anyone who gets in the way. If he ever got to the bottom of this he was sure that his actions would be vindicated in some way because everything about this case, this investigation, was simply wrong.

He had to begin an investigation of Viiradium without drawing attention. There were a couple of investigators he was very close to and a few different people in the state police he thought he could trust. He could ask them as a personal favor to keep his interest in the company confidential.

*

Enrique Limina was what you would call a "professional". From his well-groomed appearance, he could pass as a young executive of any of the South American financial investment organizations - well tailored suits and cultured mannerisms. He worked hard to reduce his accent of Colombian dialogue to a level that some might consider 'romantic'. In reality, he was no financial consultant, rather, he was a thug. Worse than a thug! He had a cold job for which he was paid very generously. Years spent as an enforcer for one of the largest illegal drug organizations in Columbia sharpened his skills of the trade.

Most of his clients were either of the executive or political variety. Perhaps someone who needed an opponent out of the way. Competition that was eating away too much of the market. Revenge perhaps for past perceived sins.. He could care less about any of his victims and even felt somewhat justified in knowing that in most cases his targets were deserving of their deaths.

He only dealt with his customers anonymously. He wanted no 'face to face' contact to later incriminate him as the 'trigger man' in someone else's problems. His clients like it that way too. No way for an evidence trail to lead the authorities to the ultimate killers.

He was a bit more concerned about this new case though. From the photograph he was given, the target looked to be a young woman. Even kind of pretty. Too bad. He wondered what she could have done to deserve so much hatred from his customer. He had to negotiate a higher fee for this one because he didn't normally do women and she didn't seem like the deserving type. They must have been pretty serious about getting rid of her since they had no problem with the price.

True, he was expensive, but he produced results. In fact, he never asked for any money in advance, only after the 'service' was delivered. Of course, all of his clients knew better than to try to withhold payment once services were rendered.

Now he sat in the cheap room thumbing through the documents he was provided with his tanned, slender fingers. The tough part would be finding her. To assist him, he owned a credit reporting agency. There was no 'documented' ownership of the organization so there was no traceable tie back to him. It was simply a means to an end. He didn't earn any money with the business itself but it did allow him computerized access to millions of financial transactions. The legitimacy of the business made contacts with other agencies that much easier. Hence, he could look into driving records, spending activity, legal history, insurance records and any criminal background detail. In the case of this specific individual, he was also using the resources and contacts of the client. He didn't like to be this closely tied to one of his clients, but if he was going to find her, he would need access to any resource he could make use of.

Still, if a person did not want to be found, they could make the job that much more difficult. Doing the actual 'service' of getting her out of the way would be the easy part. He gazed thoughtfully at her photo again and reconsidered with a slight smile. No, not the easy part, the fun part.

*

The diagram was quite perplexing. Chris had apparently quickly doodled some sort of process flow on the back of some meeting notes that offered Mara more insight. He had drawn a box with the word "Target" at the top. The 'Target' was connected by a line to a scribbled free shape that said "internet" in it. Between the 'target' and the 'internet' was a box that said "Listening Node". A dotted line from the 'listening post' went through the 'internet' shape to a larger box that said "I-Data Corp". Inside that box was a small box that said "Tomb". From 'I-Data Corp.' was a line to a box that said "Client".

As she studied the sketch, she couldn't help thinking it was like looking at a bizarre, modern form of a treasure map. She did note that Viiradium wasn't shown anywhere on the paper. Alongside the 'target' box some names were listed. Chris's writing was quick and rather cramped, so she wasn't exactly sure of the names, but she recognized "J. Robins LLC" which was a large and successful Wall Street finance and investment firm which had been in the news a lot lately over some sort of stock trade scandals.

There were other words or names: "Talicor", "Riptide" and "Sequitus Tech." Were those companies as well? They were names she was not familiar with.

She was excited at such a discovery, but yet bewildered in not understanding the clues. Somehow Viiradium was at the center of this knot and the key to unraveling the mystery was the "Tomb". She had to start somewhere, so the library seemed a good place to begin. There were some large libraries in the Boston Area plus, as an alumni, the much larger university campus libraries were available to her. She would also search the internet for information using the library's internet terminals. She found some yellowing stationary in the room and began making a list of things she was interested in finding, including the names of what she suspected were company names from Chris's 'diagram' as well as information on Viiradium and other companies that specialized in security and encryption products. She also wanted to find out more about the security technology itself. Perhaps she would discover some clue as to what this 'Tomb' was.

She really should sleep, she thought to herself. But her anxiety level was at a peak and she could only think about getting to the bottom of what was turning into an incredible and now deadly mystery. No one else seemed able to find out why she was the target of some sort of conspiracy or why her mother was murdered and her brother kidnapped and presumed dead or even why the police seemed to be going nowhere. Her desire to expose the truth and to somehow retaliate against the forces at work were growing stronger. Every time she thought of her mother, a mental vision of her dead body crammed into the trunk of Mara's car, she had to fight for control. She was walking a thin line between reality and being becoming completely swallowed in despair over the tragic death. It would be easy to allow herself to become overwhelmed in such anger that she would lose control and do something regrettable. Then to add the fact that her brother likely met some similar fate and that she was the prime suspect... She had to keep busy. Somehow, she would establish the identity of those who were responsible. She was determined to see justice. What choice did she have? Going to the police? Ha! They were out looking for her as the suspect! She would have to be extremely careful. They have demonstrated perseverance and determination to try to get to her first. Sitting still would only make things worse.

It was early evening and the libraries would be open for a while yet. She drove toward Cambridge in the cold. The little car had some form of a heater, but it seemed as if driver comfort was not a priority with sports car makers or collectors. Needless to say, the heater did not work well. She considered the city libraries but thought - why stop at a city library when the libraries at MIT would likely have more to offer? She eventually crossed the Harvard bridge, passed Memorial drive with a comfortable feeling of familiarity as she drove down Massachusetts Avenue amidst the remaining, late autumn construction to find a place to park the little car. She had not been back to the campus since her graduation, but after spending a few years there, the old buildings carried a feeling of home. Her student alumni card would be in her apartment someplace so she would not be able to check any materials out of the libraries, but she only needed to take notes.

There were actually over a dozen Libraries at the Cambridge campus, but she thought the Barker Engineering Library would offer the most information related to computer security and encryption. As far as doing research on companies, the Barton Online Catalogue would probably contain all the information she would need to know and that information would be accessible from the Barker Library. Unfortunately she would probably freeze during the long walk from her car to the library. She decided to cut through some of the buildings to get there. It wasn't the shortest route, but warmer. She would definitely need to buy a warmer jacket soon.

Eventually, she became settled in the study area with some reading materials which contained information on mathematical encryption techniques. The information was quite baffling. Much of the discussion was in regard to what was known as "PKI" or 'Public Key Infrastructure'. She tried to concentrate, but her exhaustion was starting to catch up with her. After about an hour, she decided a change of pace was needed and she turned her attention to finding more about the names of companies Chris had written on the diagram. She didn't have to look far, Talicor had a web site which she easily found using one of the internet access computers. Talicor specialized in producing generic drugs. She read some of the company bio information but could see nothing that might tie them into the mystery. She made a few notes, especially the primary address and contact information in case she needed to call.

Sequitus had no web site but Talicor and Sequitus both turned up in several news articles when she searched some of the news sites. Both had been victims of recent negative press. A couple of older positive articles turned up in the San Jose Mercury News. According to the news articles, Sequitus apparently was working on some new futuristic technology based on a revolutionary discovery called the 'pico timer'. None of the articles had the slightest indication of any relationship to her mystery. She was able to find the phone number of Sequitus in the on-line national business phone directory so she added this to her notes.

She sat back and stared at the ceiling for a while. She began to reminisce about some of the time she spent in this very room when she attended the campus as a student. It's funny that she started out with mathematics and ended up a business administrator working in the Human Resource department of a local company. She remembered one professor in particular, professor Tattinger, who acted as a career counselor as well as a classroom professor. He taught advanced calculus and differential equations, but even then was reaching the retirement age. He likely no longer worked here, but he was one of her favorites. He would have no trouble understanding the mathematics behind the widely used computer encryption methods.

She thought "Why could she loose?" She looked in the on-line residential directory and did a search for R. Tattinger. She thought his name was 'Reginald'. A listing for a Reginald Tattinger indicated an address in the local community and she made note of the phone number and address. She contemplated giving him a call but hesitated at the fear of being rejected. He was not that far away according to the address and it was about dinnertime. An older person would likely be at home this time of day. If she simply showed up at his doorstep with no appointment it would be rude, but she thought he would be less likely to turn her away.

She packed up her notes, returned the materials she had removed from the shelves into the return bin and left for the car by way of the same path she came in. By the time she found the address and parked in front of the aging house, she was pretty cold again. She noted the warm glow of lights coming through the windows as she approached the front door. She hesitated a moment, then steeled herself and rang the bell. Anxiety was causing her to sweat which made her even colder in the chill of the night. She shivered involuntarily as she waited for someone to answer the door.

After a lengthy pause, the door opened a crack and the familiar professor's face peered through. "Yes?" he began, "Can I Help You?"

"Excuse me professor Tattinger, it's Mara Chandler. I was a student of yours a few years back and I was wondering if you could spare a few minutes to help me out with something..."

"I wasn't expecting visitors right now. I wonder if you could be helped tomorrow by someone on campus instead?"

"I've just come from there. I'm sorry for just dropping by with no invitation, but I was really hoping you could help me with a serious problem." She hesitated a moment and on a whim took a stab at piquing his interest: "It has to do with a mystery that involves something called the 'Tomb of Rivest'."

Her heart sank as he closed the door. He obviously knew nothing of what she was talking about. She was about to depart when then she could hear the rattle of the chain being released from the inside. He held open the door for her and motioned for her to come in. "So... Someone's back to trying to discover the Tomb, eh?" He said in a delightfully cheery voice as he indicated a worn sofa on which to have a seat. He continued, "I was about to have dinner. I wasn't expecting company, so I can't really offer you much..."

*

Dell ended the day hopeful. He was being very careful about how, but he was able to make some discoveries. First and foremost, a close examination by the New Hampshire State Police discovered Mara's demolished car had a bullet buried in a rear tail light assembly of her Subaru. It went unnoticed at first because the collision with the rock pile in the field quite severely dented the back end of the car, so gun shots were not evident at first. This indicated some obvious foul play and removed a little of suspicion from Mara. At least from the New Hampshire side anyway. The police also concluded that it would be unlikely that someone fitting Mara's description of 'slight build' could move her mother's body into the trunk alone. This either indicated an accomplice, or perhaps a set up. Finally, enough evidence in the field remained to indicate a second car which apparently was somehow removed from the scene before the police were called.

However, the Massachusetts and New Hampshire police wanted her for questioning and she was still the prime suspect in the disappearance of her brother. She was a subject of a bulletin and would likely be held if captured. Especially since she seemed to be evading the police which increased the suspicion that she had some level of responsibility in all the things that were going on.

His investigation of Viiradium was going nowhere. It became apparent that he was dealing with an influential opponent that seemingly targeted him and Mara with the clear goal of getting them out of the way. He did not like to be the victim of such manipulation, so he was even more determined to discover their real motivation and root problem they were apparently trying to cover up. He thought about going through private means to conduct an investigation. If any hint of official involvement reached the chief, it would likely be the end of his investigative profession.

It was well into the evening and he was starting to worry about Mara. He had expected that she would contact him by now and the fact that she apparently made no attempt at such contact began to really concern him. She was the real victim here and he was amazed how well she seemed to be holding up. Her mother murdered, her brother missing and presumed dead and Mara being the prime suspect by the police as killers repeated their attempts to apparently make her disappear. He didn't know how she was doing it. She had to be running on pure resolve to maintain such diligent persistence. He found himself dwelling with admiration of her a bit too frequently these days.

*

She cut him off, "Oh! Don't worry about me. Please go right ahead and eat your dinner. I know it was rude of me to just drop by, but I was really hoping you could help. Please, go ahead and eat. I would be happy to wait as long as you need."

"It's no problem, I usually eat right there with the news." He pointed to an easy chair in front of the television. He then retreated into what she assumed was the kitchen to get his food. Her heart raced at the comment he had made about the apparent interest in the Tomb. Finally! She might begin to untangle this mystery. While he was gone, she took a moment to examine the room more closely. One entire wall was bookshelves, overloaded with books. Most of the books had to do with math and science. Adjacent to the bookshelves was a large table covered with articles and magazines piled around a couple of large computer monitors. One monitor was running with one of those 'Search for new proteins, or amino acid' screen savers displayed, apparently going through data supplied by some bioresearch agency or government lab that collected and distributed amino acid sequence structures over the internet. The computer itself was on the floor, surprisingly large and apparently quite new. The small table next to the easy chair was littered with various scientific articles and periodicals. The same with the end table next to the sofa. She never realized there was so much information available on the subject of math in common periodicals. He came back in carrying a steaming bowl of something and two cups of tea on a tray with a bit of bread.

"I made you a cup of tea. I hope you don't mind," he said as he sat the tray precariously on the pile of paper. He handed her the cup and said, "you looked like you would probably take sugar, so I took the liberty of adding a little."

She loved the way he spoke with a bit of British accent softened by the years spent in America. There was also a hint of Irish lilt in the gravely but cheerful voice. He settled himself in the chair, looked at her with bushy eyebrows raised and asked, "So what's this talk about the Tomb that's brought you to my door this evening?"

She began to outline the events of the past few days. Her missing brother. The kidnapping attempts. The death of her mother. The search for 'Mara the fugitive' by the police. After practically running out of breath, she paused to collect her thoughts. Professor Tattinger interrupted, "Well, it sounds to me like I should be calling the police, wouldn't you say?" She was quite unsettled, but relaxed a bit when she caught his wolfish grin and understood he wasn't serious.

She also realized some key elements were left out of her story. She explained both she and Chris worked at Viiradium. This seemed to interest the old professor greatly. She began to explain that they were in the business of producing security products for data transfer and computer network communication, but he interrupted her by explaining he knew all about what Viiradium did.

She described the circumstance of the anonymous e-mail from Chris and the apparent foul play and involvement of Viiradium. She finally explained that the simple e-mail message only alerted her that the Tomb of Rivest had been discovered at Viiradium. Since she had no idea what this meant she could only hope to learn by doing more research.

"Yes. I suppose you might eventually happen across some text that mentions the Tomb." He began. "I haven't heard anyone use that phrase in about twenty five years."

She was eager to clear up her cloudy understanding of the situation and pressed him for more information. "Well, tell me! Where is it? How can it help me determine what's going on? Why are there people trying to kill me!?"

"Slow down, young lady. I need to give you a little background so you will understand first." He paused and had a bit of his soup and some tea. She used the time to sip some of the tea herself and was surprised by how good it was. "It's not so much as 'where' is it, but rather, 'what' is it. It really began back during the war. I'm talking about World War II of course. The Americans and other allies needed to send messages and information to each other. You couldn't simply send strategic offensive plans on a broadcast radio station. The enemy would hear and be able to mount a defense. You couldn't write the plans down and send them by courier because if the courier was captured by the enemy, the plans would be revealed.

"Hence, the age of encryption was born. Of course, it wasn't really 'born' then since even the ancient Romans were known to have encrypted messages carried by courier. But the idea remains the same. By applying some sort of secret to your message, you could scramble it enough so that it would be unintelligible and too difficult to de-scramble if the message were intercepted by the enemy. This worked very well except that there was one problem. The person receiving the message also had to know the secret for decrypting it. This led to all sorts of fancy code-book and password schemes for decoding messages but in each case, you still had to get the secret to unlock the original message somehow and this always proved to be a big obstacle.

"Well, along came computers which were very good at scrambling messages so well that they became virtually impossible to decode no matter what. And with computer networks, especially with a network like the internet, messages could be routed to the proper person very rapidly – and unfortunately, secretly intercepted by the adversary too. And still, that same old problem of knowing the secret to de-scrambling the message remained. You couldn't send the secret with the scrambled message for any ill intended individual who might be able to intercept your computer coded message would have both the encrypted message and the secret key to decode it.

"Am I making sense so far?"

"Yes, go on!" she eagerly replied. She wanted to get to the 'good part' of the story.

"Well that changed in the 1970's. Someone discovered a way to send the key or the secret to decode the message safely along with the message. That might sound impossible, but it turned out to be not all that difficult for a computer.

"To illustrate how this works, let's say that we want to leave messages for each other but we don't want to just pin them up on the bulletin board because they are private. So we put them in a box that is locked. However, this particular lock is unique in that it has two keys: a red one and a blue one. Each key can only unlock the box if the opposite key locked it.

"So if you put a message in the box and lock it with your red key, only my blue key can unlock it. Not even your red key can unlock the box if the red key was used to lock it. Since my blue key unlocks it only if your red key locked it, I know that you must have locked it so I am positive the message is indeed only from you since the only person with the red key is you.

"You might wonder, why not have a simple box that has only one kind of key? Say a silver one? We would both have the same key so we can use the box freely to message each other. Well, here's where it becomes interesting. In order to get you this copy of my silver key, I would have to have one made at the locksmith and then personally deliver it to you so that I can be sure that you indeed have it. If we must meet personally, why bother with the key at all, I'll just hand you the message.

"Well the dual key method creates a way to privately send messages without ever actually having to meet! Let's say I don't have a blue key to match your red one. So you lock the message in the box with your red key and just leave a few blue keys laying there so that if I happen by, I can just pick up a blue key and look in the box and find your message. This may seem silly, but if there is a message there, I at least know one thing for sure. It had to be from you because one of the blue keys worked, thus the box must have been locked with the red key and since you have the only red key, only you could have put the message in the box. If I respond with a reply message and lock it with one of the blue keys, only your red key can unlock it now – none of the other blue keys will work once the box is locked with a blue key – remember the rule, each key can unlock the box when the other key locks it.

"So now messages from you are not private since anyone can unlock the box with one of the blue keys that you left once you have locked it with your red key. However, all messages To you are private. Once someone locks a message in the box with a blue key, only you can unlock it since you have the only red key. Again, remember the rule, if the box is locked with a blue key, another blue key will not unlock it, this is a unique box where the keys work in pairs.

"Now we have a 'one way' method of getting private messages from anyone to you. In fact we'll call this your box for anyone to use to leave a message for you. If you want to send me a private message you can not use your box because anyone with a blue key could open and read the message, so we have to have another box, say one that works with a green and yellow pair of keys. We'll call this 'my' box and set it right next to your box. I leave some yellow keys next to the box so you can lock a message inside for me. Since there is only one green key and I have it, you can now send me a private message with my box and by using your box with the blue key you have provided, I can send you a private response to your message.

"So far, so good – right? Now, suppose there are fifty of us and we want to leave messages for any of us among ourselves. We simply need 50 boxes, one for each person, each with a set of paired keys. One of the keys is duplicated many times and left behind freely for the taking while there is only one of the matching key pair and each person holds that private key for his box to himself. Now all 50 of us can communicate, but in total privacy and without ever have to physically meet!"

He paused to let this sink in while he ate some more of his soup. Mara was struggling a bit at this nonsense but there was a certain amount of bizarre logic to it. "Then I still have to have a key ring with 50 keys in it" She said. "I have my own key, the red one, and one key from each of the 49 other people. Wouldn't it just be easier for each of us to carry 50 keys, one for each of the 50 boxes?"

"Ah! But you miss the point. If that were the case and I leave a private message for you, the other 48 people have a key to your box and could read the message that wasn't intended for them. These are 50 people that don't trust each other."

"O.K. But how does this tie into computers and the Tomb?"

"Oh Gosh!" he began rather excitedly, "let's say I wanted to send you a private message over a public network like the internet. All you have to do is send your 'blue' key to me first. We'll consider the blue key the 'public' key. Once I lock or encode the message using the blue key, only you can unlock it because you are the only one with the corresponding red 'private' key. If anyone intercepted a copy of the blue key you sent to me, who cares! All they could do with it is lock a message that only you could unlock! The only problem with all of this is that there is no such magical box that works like that with pairs of keys. That is until the 1970's when somebody invented one."

He stopped to have a little more of his meal. Mara said, "I haven't heard of such a contraption. It seems a little impossible to contrive such an odd system of dual keys."

"Ah, but it's not a mechanical contraption but only a virtual box because it exists just as a mathematical theory. However, being mathematical, it could be implemented using computers, and it has indeed become a reality and a very popular one. It is the basis of practically all private data encryption practices in use today. It is very difficult, if not impossible to overcome by the malicious, mysterious interceptor of messages. For the most part it was invented right here at MIT by a team of three individuals. Mathematician types. You know the kind. And that's where we get to you, young lady. Viiradium and other companies use this same method today to produce the encryption products that everyone is using.

"What's interesting is how it works and this is where the math gets a little droll. To understand it, you have to know a bit about prime numbers and their relationship with each other."

Mara was familiar with prime numbers, but a 'relationship'? "I didn't think prime numbers were really related except for the fact that they all share the common characteristic of being prime numbers."

"Well you see, the trick is to pick two prime numbers, multiply them together to produce a product. Using the same two prime numbers you also choose an exponent. The exponent must meet certain qualifications. It must not share any factors with the product of the first prime minus one and the second prime minus one. Another exponent must be computed which is the multiplicative inverse of the first exponent. The original prime numbers are thrown away." He made a gesture of tossing something in the waste can. "The product of the original primes and the first exponent together make up the public key. The second exponent is used as the private key."

Even with her math background, that was much too quick to follow. She felt like she just walked into a cave with no lantern.

"Now to encrypt your information, treat each piece of information as a number. For a computer that's easy since any information is represented as strings of numbers anyway. Each number is raised to the power of the exponent and divided by the product of the original primes. The remainder of the division operation becomes the encrypted version of the original piece of information. The quotient is not needed and simply ignored.

"To decrypt, take the encrypted information represented as a number, raise it to the power of the second exponent – the private one – and again divide by the product of the primes. This new remainder is the original number. Doing arithmetic where you are only interested in the remainder instead of the quotient is called 'modular division'."

Mara's head was spinning. She simply looked at Professor Tattinger with a blank expression of bewilderment while he finished his dinner. "Well if one number – the public one – is some sort of 'inverse', as you put it, of the private one, it seems like someone could determine the private number given the public one. Wouldn't this be a weakness?"

"Very Good! You see, that's the key to the whole thing! You understand this more than you know. The numbers we are using are very large. So large in fact that factoring them into the original pair of prime numbers is what we mathematicians call a 'hard problem'. In fact, it is so difficult that in practice, it would take teams of today's computers years just to factor one such set of numbers to determine the original primes, thus revealing the private key."

Mara tried to comprehend some of the details again in her mind as to how this worked but her exhaustion was catching up. Without seeing an example written on a piece of paper... She stopped trying to analyze it and simply believed what the professor was saying. "So what does this have to do with my situation?" she asked.

"The original three men that discovered or at least developed this technique were Ron Rivest, Adi Shamir and Leonard Adleman. Back when they originally published their work, it was viewed as an interesting curiosity, especially given the computer power needed to handle the decryption process. Back in the 70's, with the limited power of computers, the process was quite slow. There were those that thought that a factoring algorithm could be developed that would be able to handle the difficult problem of discovering the original primes and when this algorithm was fully developed, it would mean the death of this encryption technique and thus became nick-named the 'Tomb of Rivest'.

"However, the three of them went off and started their own company and the rest, shall we say, is history. No such algorithm has ever been discovered and in fact, there have been numerous corporate challenges in effect offering to pay a reward to anyone who can rapidly decrypt such an encrypted message.

"This really was only the beginning. What evolved was today's world of safe private data transfer across the public network. In practice, even with today's computers, the whole process of encrypting pages of data using private and public key pairs is too slow for typical amounts of data. But, this technique solves a very old problem. The problem of sending a secret without having to physically meet. If the secret message was very short, then it would not be too difficult to use this method to send the secret. Well, that is the case in our example. The secret we really need to send is that silver key. Once both sides have the same silver key, they can just use that to lock or encrypt their message instead. Using an old fashioned key to encrypt a message – where the key is the same on both sides –is very fast, in fact, it takes almost no time at all. But how do you get the secret key, the 'silver' one, to the other person? The method of using the paired keys solves this. Now I can use the paired key technique to send, not a message, but an old fashioned encryption key, that both parties can then use to encrypt or decrypt messages from each other. Once this third key has been sent, now I can quickly encrypt a message for you and since you already received the key through the paired key method, you can quickly decode it.

"In fact, this is exactly how your internet web browser works today. When you go to a 'secure' site on the web, the site sends you the public key of a public / private pair of keys. Your web browser generates a symmetric encryption key – the silver one – and encrypts the key with the site's public key and sends it back to the site. The site can decode the message with its private key and now both the site and your browser know the encryption key. Tada! Now rapid encryption and decryption can take place using the same key at both ends throughout the remainder of your browser session with that web site."

Mara finished the last of her tea and said, "Well, let's suppose that someone has finally discovered this 'Tomb of Rivest' and that someone is likely Viiradium. But I don't see why this is such a big deal? People are getting kidnapped and killed over this. Do you have any idea why?"

He gave her a hard stare that made her uncomfortable, then he started to chuckle which grew into a good old fashioned belly laugh. "My dear", he said, "This is the next best thing to a time machine that you'll ever get!"

"What do you mean, Time Machine?"

"Well, what if you knew accurately, just one day in advance, what would happen tomorrow? Suppose you had the financial section of tomorrow's paper today? What would that be worth? Billions! You would have all of tomorrow's prices on hundreds of stocks, commodities, metals, exchange rates and everything. Well, if someone had discovered the Tomb and was using it in some systematic fashion, they could gather private information on anyone or anything, any market, any development simply by watching, collecting and illegally decoding private information. Especially in the corporate world where companies communicate between branch locations in different cities or even in different countries.

"A large organization could systematically collect and categorize all this data on hundreds of companies and use it for profit. They could snoop and sell anything they learned. And now, if this little operation were about to be blown because of you, I'm sure they wouldn't think twice about making sure you go away!"

Suddenly his face became ashen. His expression carried a perplexity as though he had just been licked by a llama. "Dear me!" he said. "You need to leave. What you have just revealed to me is enough to make me dangerous to them, whoever 'they' are!"

"I didn't mean to cause you any trouble..." Mara began. "I simply had nowhere else to go." She still had many unanswered questions, so she went on. "How could this be? Wouldn't this method, or 'Tomb' if you prefer, be something well known? Wouldn't it be the end of secure data transmission as we know it? What you're saying is that such a discovery would be huge!"

"That right. It would be 'huge' as you put it. So huge, that it's best if kept quiet. If this were to get out, the whole house of cards would come crashing down. If you happened to be a company like Viiradium whose products depend on this knowledge remaining secret, you might do anything to make sure it stays a secret.

"What's fascinating is that someone could have accomplished this! It has never been proven, but always believed that such factoring of primes would be impossible. The only known possibility to date would be to use quantum computing techniques, but those are still in the future. In fact the only place where such a computer exists is in laboratories at places like MIT and Hewlett-Packard. And those machines are still far too crude to be able to be put to any practical application yet."

He stood up and walked toward the door. Clearly, the discussion was over. He seemed very nervous and peeked through the curtain out into the street. "Who else knows you're here?" His voice cracked a bit with his question.

"No one. I came here directly from the MIT Library. I only came over on a whim and the fact that I remembered you from when I was a student here." She got up and collected her purse and light jacket.

As she approached the door, he stopped and gave her a stern warning: "This is bigger that you think. Get some help. The police or government or something. If they find you, I'm afraid they would feel no remorse at 'removing' you. Be careful. Think of what happened to your brother and your mom." He opened the door enough for her to squeeze out and then closed it firmly behind her. She could hear the sound of the locks being engaged. She cautiously approached her car keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. She was pretty anxious before, now she was downright terrified.

*

She drove the car back towards her rented 'room', if you could call it that. She had to get some rest. She wanted to talk to Dell. She promised she would call him today to let him know she was OK – that she got settled and was safe. There was a phone in the room but at this point even that didn't seem safe to use. On a whim, she swerved into a deep discount drugstore to buy a few items she suddenly thought might give her some temporary protection. She would have to go easy on her cash since she would not easily be able to get more.

She drove back to the room carefully keeping a sharp eye for any suspicious activity. She sat in the cold in the parking lot for awhile and watched the dumpy little tired motel. It must be almost 10:00 and there was dwindling neighborhood activity.

Once she got settled in her room she went to work. As she examined herself in the mirror, she felt sad over the prospect of losing some of her hair. It was almost shoulder length and had a bit of natural bounce in the cheerful brunette strands that seemed to give her hair a life of its' own. She went to work with the scissors. Cutting your own hair didn't produce the best results when you are not able to see or even reach all of it comfortably. However, after the final rinse of the bleach solution and a bit a time spent drying and fluffing, she didn't look to bad. Bleach blond with sort of a controlled chaos look. In fact, she rather liked it. She would have to get to a real salon soon, but for an emergency, she could pass. Time would tell whether changing her appearance would really benefit her or not. At least it made her feel a little less conspicuous. A little safer.

She had some time to think and decided to call Dell tonight and set up a meeting in the morning. She simply was too exhausted to meet tonight.

Standing there in the cold was awful. The little car did little to keep her warm on the drive to the pay phone and now, just standing around in the cold didn't help. She wished she had included a pay-as-you-go phone in her drug store purchase. If they were good enough for terrorists, they were good enough for her. She tried to be patient as she waited for him to call back after she paged him with the number of the payphone. After what seemed like eternity, the phone rang and she snatched it up.

"Hello?"

"Mara? It's Dell!"

Mara began, "We need to get together because I've found out some more that I think might be useful. It could at least be a starting place."

"Mara, I've been worried sick waiting for you to call! Where the heck are you?"

"I'm at a payphone."

"Where are you staying?"

"Let's just pick a place to meet, not your place", she said rather coldly. She felt wary and did not want to get too cozy with anyone even though she really needed to trust someone. She still had the bitter aftereffects of being burned by her precious "Will". It would be hard to fully trust anyone. Besides Dell was a cop.

They agreed on a place to meet in the morning for breakfast where they could talk.

She hung up with an abruptness that she regretted. He was trying to help after all. He even admitted he was worried. Sounded like he was letting himself get personally involved in a case. But she was running scared. She was still wanted by the police. Professor Tattinger spooked her a little. Especially now that she began to realize the magnitude of what was going on. First she could see how Viiradium might want to keep secret the knowledge of a way to break practically any security technique their products might use. But that was minor when compared to the criminal possibilities Professor Tattinger explained. Since the message from her brother said that the 'Tomb' was discovered at Viiradium, she could only assume they themselves discovered it and were using it to exploit or compromise data transmissions anywhere they wanted. Could they really be using or even selling stolen information? Could they even 'eavesdrop' on government or military data traffic? If that were the case, no wonder they felt no remorse about doing whatever they had to do to keep the secret safe.

*

The next thing she knew, she was listening to the sound of drizzle splatter softly against the dull gray window of her monotonous little room. She awoke with a start. She looked at the bedside clock and realized she slept like the dead. She had to meet Dell soon and was planning to walk there. She had picked a place to meet just a few blocks from the motel and thought she would be less noticed without that goofy car. As she looked at herself in the mirror and had to look twice – the change was so dramatic. She lay on the bed fully clothed last night and now her clothes were rumpled and, with no chance to air out, were likely not to smell the best.

She hurriedly stripped, showered, applied ample deodorant, re-dressed, rubbed and fluffed her new (and damp) hair as best she could and dashed out the door. The chill of the morning felt refreshing after the hot shower. She put on her new sunglasses from the drug store and felt good for a change as she briskly strode to the restaurant in the light drizzle and heavy morning air.

She tried to look natural but probably was doing a bad job of impersonating a relaxed person. As she rounded the final corner and approached the restaurant on foot, she kept a wary eye for anything that might be suspicious. She went inside keeping her sunglasses on and sat at the breakfast bar of the diner. She was a few minutes late and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dell looking anxiously toward the door awaiting her arrival. This was Great! He apparently didn't even recognize her when she walked in. The waitress behind the counter asked if she wanted coffee and Mara said no, that she just noticed her party sitting in a booth and got up to meet him.

She slid into the seat across the table from him and bemused his startled expression as she removed her sunglasses. "Mara! I didn't even recognize you! You look great!"

*

Enrique sat parked across the street and chuckled as he saw a woman join the cop. Enrique really had only one lead to go on. That was the cop. If Mara had any intelligence at all, she wouldn't come near her place or the office if she didn't want to be found. But since she went to the police, she was likely not finished with them. All Enrique had to do was watch the cop and wait for the girl to show up. He saw her when she walked up to the diner, but wasn't looking for a blond. Now he laughed out loud as he looked at the photo again and compared it with the woman in his mind's eye. Yes, she was the one. Different hair, but the same one.

What was she up to? She disguises herself, yet goes to the cops. This cop must definitely be working with her. She was wanted by the police, yet here they were, bad girl and the cop, eating breakfast together.

'Cops were so stupid' he thought to himself. They always thought about sharpening their skills when it came to surveillance. They never gave thought that it just might be them who was being watched. Keeping an eye on the cop was easy. Now he had to be more careful when stalking her. She was used to watching her back. He could simply walk in, shoot her as she ate breakfast, and leave. But that always meant a murder investigation along with witnesses to the crime. Murder investigations were ugly and his clients didn't like them. He was able to charge very high prices for his service because he was a professional. He took care not to leave bodies. With no bodies... no murder investigation. Yes, there would be a case of someone 'missing', but not dead.

That was really the hard part. Getting rid of the body. There were lots of places to hide a body: buried, sealed inside a waste drum, weighted down and tossed into a convenient body of water, but they usually were found – eventually. Even a vat of acid or a wood chipper, while seeming like a good ways to lose a body, still left fragments of remains that forensics could use to determine that a murder had taken place.

Long ago, he had solved this problem. It was so childishly simple, yet no one had discovered any of his victims, at least not that he knew of. His assignments took him to cities all over, but in each there was usually a funeral facility large enough to host a crematorium. All he had to do was break in at night while there was no activity, dump the body of his victim in a wood box destined for the furnace and set the machine's automated cremation cycle to start. What could be better – a machine designed to get rid of human bodies.

Sure, there were remains, the ashes. But, usually the machine even took care of that. If it were discovered that an unauthorized use of the machine had occurred, so what? It was too late and with no remains but ashes, nothing left to identify the victim. He just had to 'clean' the victim of lose any jewelry and such before running the machine.

There was also the option of industrial incinerators. Many companies had them and often were in the same state of quiet disuse at two o'clock in the morning. So if a crematorium wasn't handy, he did have other choices.

That made the problem of assassination a little more challenging. He couldn't simply kill someone and leave. Using sniper techniques or poison would be so easy, but then again, there was that problem of the remains along with the ensuing investigation. He had to get his targets alone, so they would just appear to simply vanish without a trace. Now that he had her within his grasp, he only had to wait for the opportune moment.

Plus there was the fact that this particular job also had a very unique feature. One that he had never had to face before. The 'mark' was not some dough-faced, bloated, crooked politician but, rather quite pretty and relatively defenseless. What an opportunity! A little 'fun on the job with this one' he thought to himself. He couldn't suppress the grin on his face.

*

She smiled a bit but kept quiet, still unsure of his real position. He seemed to express genuine and caring concern, but he also always seemed to be at the right place at the right time. She realized her thinking was rather paranoid, but after the last few days – especially with her discussion with Professor Tattinger and not to mention the murder of her mother – she felt she had good reason to be paranoid.

"Mara, I've been starting to go crazy here!" he began. "I was really getting nervous as it got later and later. I'm glad you're OK! By the way, I have to say again, the new hair looks great!"

She was pleased with the attention she was receiving and began to relax a little. She couldn't help feeling a little self-conscious dressed in the disheveled clothes she was wearing. They both ordered breakfast when the waitress came by and were served coffee.

"I'm sorry. I got wrapped up in some research and by the time I was through, it was pretty late. I just crashed and didn't set an alarm or anything. I guess I was more tired than I thought."

"Well, I was very glad to see you – once I recognized you that is!" His broad, easy smile was warm and she mellowed as she sat for a while not saying anything.

After a moment, Dell went on, "I have some news, some good, some not so good. Let me start with the not so good." He lowered his voice and leaned toward her a bit to maintain a little privacy in the cramped diner. "I have been strictly banned from working on this case. In fact it was more of a threat than an order. Whoever is pulling the strings here has quite a lot of weight. The State Police are apparently under this same 'influence'. The whole thing really has me pissed. I hate corruption and now it's become personal. I want to get to the bottom of this but I've got to try to do it with one hand tied behind my back. No 'official' involvement."

"What's the good news?"

"The New Hampshire police are pretty convinced you did not kill your mother. They suspect foul play from the evidence at the scene. You didn't tell me about the gun!"

"Gun?"

"Yes, they dug a bullet out of the back of your car. They also had to admit, beating your mother to death and tossing her into a trunk of a car would be pretty tough for one your size..." From the grief stricken look of misery on her face, he instantly regretted bringing up the graphic description of her mother's demise. 'What an Idiot!' he thought to himself.

The food came and he dug into his eggs with robust zeal. She played around with the food on her plate a bit and took a tentative bite. She noted with surprise a tear had fallen from her face onto her plate. She began to feel embarrassed at becoming emotional with someone she hardly knew. It surprised her how much his mention of her mother affected her. Rather than fussing about it though, he seemed to understand and remained silent as he continued eating. Although Mara felt like there was a toad caught in her throat and her stomach turned, she realized she was starving.

They ate in silence. She couldn't help but review with regret the events that had occurred during the past few days or so. There was the inevitable 'if-onlys'. If only she hadn't deleted that original e-mail message from Chris. If only she hadn't involved her mother. If only she had gone to the police sooner. Now with grim resolve, she was determined to get back at the invisible garbage that seemed bent on torturing her. She had no idea where to go from here and she was only one small girl against... who knew what. The odds were definitely against her. No doubt the organization standing behind her feeble, threatened existence would not give up – whether it was Viiradium or someone or something else.

Hopefully, she knew more than they thought she knew. Somehow, she was able to stay one small step ahead. Albeit a small step that cost her family their lives. She simply had to continue to stay ahead and bring this thing to an end before they brought her to an end. Staying a step ahead was the only way she could defeat them. She would have to be incredibly cautious.

Could she trust Dell?
Chapter 17

Bob Danvers was getting a little sick of it already. Running for a political office as big as governor of Massachusetts was a real headache. Television ads, mudslinging with the other candidates, personal appearances and still trying to run a multi-billion dollar company. He knew he would need to find a successor to take the reins of Viiradium if he were to be elected. It would be a difficult choice given the morons that were supposed to be serving as vice presidents and corporate executives of the company now. If it weren't for him, they would have driven the company into the ground long ago.

He was the one who recognized the need to find motivated and talented technical people who understood the science and principles and who could develop what amounted to theories into marketable products. Now look where they were. Their products were ubiquitous. You could hardly find a modern technology company today that didn't have some Viiradium products in use someplace within their organization.

The motivated and talented people, the ones usually referred to as 'geeks', were indeed strange and eccentric. So what? Give them what they wanted and they would be happy. As long as they were happy, they would make you happy. That was the part most executives didn't get. Technology companies depended on a strange natural resource – not fossil fuels or earthly ores, but eccentric techno-weenies that worked strange hours, wanted all kinds of outrageous pay and basically glued the organization together. You had to make them happy to be a success.

He believed administering the state as governor could use some very similar principles. First and foremost, you had to do all that you could to make the people happy. Only, in this case, the people were not employees, but voters, constituents. You couldn't simply pay them, you had to make their government perform. Then, if they were happy, they wouldn't mind paying high taxes. What really made people upset wasn't the high taxes, it was the high taxes for nothing! You had to have results! You had to use the money to produce something worthwhile.

People wanted lower crime, lower unemployment, better roads, less traffic, more security in retirement, a future to look forward to. They wouldn't mind paying for it. He felt that he could overhaul things from a corporate executive standpoint, reduce or eliminate waste and from an overall perspective, give people what they wanted.

He was sick and tired of the campaigning though. What a bunch of crap. No matter what tactic he tried, the other candidates would counter any effort with even more crap. In fact, they would simply lie to make you look bad. Didn't matter if it was later proved that they straightforwardly lied, some listeners already had their minds changed by the lies and it would be almost impossible to get their trust back.

Fortunately, he had a respectable bearing and a friendly, believable presence whenever he walked into a room. He seemed like a man you could believe would get things done. This had pushed him a long way and he intended to make the most of his natural abilities. Especially compared with some of the wimps that were supposedly his contenders.

Deep down inside, he knew that this was only a stepping stone. His long term sights were set much higher than governor. However, he didn't want to follow the same failed footsteps of other self-funded candidates of recent campaigns. They lost because the American people just wouldn't elect a non-politician for President. Schwarzenegger and Regan did it the right way. They was no politicians, but it was a lot easier for an actor to get into politics in a state like California where acting is taken seriously. The same with Danvers – it would be a lot easier for a powerful corporate executive to be elected governor in a state like Massachusetts where corporate executives were taken seriously. Then, you were considered politically experienced and then the American people would take you seriously. You were no longer a corporate minion, you were an experienced governor with a proven track record.

The only trouble was, you had to put up with these buffoons, these so called other candidates. Even the incumbent democrat was a pansy as far has Danvers was concerned. The state needed a man of action! Sure, it would cost him, but money was not the issue. He had plenty of that.

Power.

That was what drove a man like Danvers.

*

Mike Ludwik had a few minutes to kill before the meeting began. He hated being late for meetings of any kind, even these informal "off the cuff" sort of meetings that Annette arranged this morning. Even worse, he hated it when other people were late for meetings. It was bad enough that they wasted their own time, but to waste the time of everyone's was just plain rude.

Annette actually showed up a few minutes early which was just fine. She walked right in when she saw that Mike wasn't on the phone and plopped herself down in a guest seat. Wasting no time, she began, "Remember when we talked about our security problems? You were checking into the more traditional means someone might use to steal information and I was going to sort of go over our computer security with a fine tooth comb?

"Well, I ran into something interesting."

After a pause, Mike prompted her, "And?"

"There's always been a certain amount of spying, disgruntled employees divulging sensitive information, accidental data access and just plain data theft happening all over the corporate and government data landscape and it's really hard to notice anything new in the area of information 'exposure'.

"However, I discovered a company which offers a remarkable 'service' to its customers and I wonder how many more like it there might be in operation out there. They will sell you information about just about anybody. I'm not talking about sales and demographic information from all your competitors, I'm talking about private stuff. The sort of stuff you might hire a private investigator for. Only these guys do their 'investigation' simply by watching data transmissions from their 'target' that traverse the information infrastructure over public phone and internet lines. They contend that since the data is traveling across so-called 'publicly funded' phone and data circuits, the information is available to the public."

"So," Mike responded, "there are outfits out there whose sole business is to simply monitor what comes and goes from an internet perspective from any prospective target and these people make money from this?"

"Apparently quite a lot of money based on what they charge for this so-called service. They monitor web traffic and perhaps, most importantly, any e-mail traffic, sift through it looking for potentially valuable information – at least valuable to a competitor – and package up the whole report and hand it over to your enemy.

"I found out about this really by chance. They don't advertise, they have a web site which looks like a front for a legitimate data mining consultant outfit. But, most of their client base is built on reputation and word of mouth. Understandably, if the privacy fanatics found out about this, they would have a field day. Depending on your interpretation of legal use of public data circuits, they are basically stealing information and selling it on the gray market. Pretty cool really, no face to face meetings, no pawn shop or fence go-between and since no one knows their data has been recorded and re-sold, no one even knows a theft has occurred."

"I see where you're going with this Annette, since our little operation here is very cutthroat with very high stakes, you're going to say that perhaps we've been 'hit' by these people. But, I thought you said that you were pretty confident that even if someone were able to intercept and monitor data traffic between us and our contractors, there would be no chance of exposure because of the high quality encryption we have forced upon all parties involved."

"That's still true, and I don't see how we could be at risk, but, and that is a really big 'but', the information I have heard through the rumor mill is that these guys are even presenting stolen data to their customers that was encrypted by the target. Now, keep in mind, this is only a rumor, but I wanted to bring it to your attention.

"I don't actually have anyone that I know of that has already been a target of one of these little deals, but I am still working on trying to find one. The trouble is in most cases, in fact, probably in all cases, the target organization doesn't even know they were a target. The ones buying the information from this outfit are not admitting anything let alone having a frank and open discussion with me, so I doubt I'll get too much further."

"What's this place called?" Mike asked.

"They're simply known as I-Data."
Chapter 18

"You said you were doing some research?", Dell began.

She had to put her emotions on hold again and try to stay focused on the matter at hand. "Yes. I discovered what the 'Tomb of Rivest' actually is."

Dell's fork stopped moving as he gave her a wide eyed look of surprise. He thought, 'finally, we might just begin to get through this maze of wonder. "Well! Don't keep me in suspense! What the hell is it!"

She gave him the brief version of her discovery of the drawing among the papers he brought her from Chris' place, her trip to the MIT libraries and conversation with Professor Tattinger. She left out all his comparisons of boxes with colored keys and left it as simply an algorithm thought to not exist that could turn the world of computer encryption inside out. It turns out that such an algorithm is likely to exist or, if not an algorithm, at least some method that has been discovered at Viiradium, a company whose very existence depends upon encryption technology.

While she told the story, he didn't pay much attention to his breakfast. When she finished her yarn he returned to the task of eating while giving some thought to Mara's revelations. He did not fully understand all of the details behind how data encryption worked, but he didn't have too. The bottom line is that Mara was really on to something. The trick was figuring out if Viiradium was only trying to 'save' themselves by keeping this knowledge a secret, or were they exploiting this knowledge and actually using it in some way to access or steal otherwise private military or corporate information? In both cases, he could see how a large corporation might turn to drastic measures to keep the secret a secret.

His police instincts began to go into overdrive and he began thinking about all of the past incidents starting with the old investigation of the missing mathematician that disappeared and was filed as an unsolved case. Then with all that has happened to Mara and her family, certainly a warning flag went up in his mind and he knew he had to do more investigating in spite of the pressure to back off. Could they even influence the police? Sure! It really does happen more than he would like to admint.

Deals made on the golf courses across the country of silent kickbacks for political favors. Scenarios that could be somewhat sarcastically summarized, "Just ignore us as we bury these hazardous wastes in a vacant area of your county – let us make it worth your while!" If that scenario was a possibility then why not, "Get your police force off our backs. We are a great support to the community and very large employer. We will make it worth your while to leave us alone." Mix in a few favors, and voila! The police are 'influenced' not to investigate Viiradium. "Oh, and by the way, there is one particularly difficult detective – a Detective Taylor I believe? – he really needs to move on to more important cases and to stop using his nose as a can opener."

He could see how such a deal would be all it takes to bring the boss down hard on him. It wasn't the boss's fault. He was probably threatened every bit as much as Dell was to let go of this case. The whole thing only served to fuel his anger even more. There were crimes going on here, at the very least kidnapping, assault and murder, practically right in his own back yard and he wasn't able to do anything about it.

Mara had been working on finishing her breakfast finally spoke, "I need to do some more work."

"What are you talking about! You of all people have to stay clear of Viiradium, they have already tried to get to you, there's no doubt they would try again if you gave them a chance."

"What I mean is: companies don't do these kinds of things – people do. I need to find out more about the people. Obviously, it is not common knowledge within the company that this 'tomb' even existed let alone has now been discovered. My brother was a math genius who must have stumbled onto their discovery and has disappeared as a result. I believe only a select few know about it within the organization. I have to start someplace, so I want to start with the people that make up the organization. I want to know who sits on the board of directors, I want to know what other boards our own executives might be sitting on. At least that's a start and most of that knowledge is a matter of public record, especially with publicly held, stock trading companies like Viiradium.

"What would really then be helpful is to find out things like personal investment records, you know, who owns what. Phone records, spending records, who do they hand out with. But I can't do those kinds of things, that's were the police come in and that means you – if you really want to help like you say you do."

He had to give her a lot of credit. She should be having a nervous breakdown, but instead, she shoves her feelings aside and is staying peculiarly focused on identifying, classifying and hunting down the perpetrators.

Her strategy made sense too. You had to start somewhere and ninety nine percent of investigative work was of the tedious variety – sifting for clues in an endless trail of papers and documents.

The police part would not be easy. An investigation like this normally would be conducted over a period of several months with a staff of dedicated detectives and auditors examining countless leads. There was only the two of them, one was not only not a police officer but in fact a fugitive and wanted by the bad guys, the other about as useless as an NFL Pre-Game Show. Their best chance was to produce some sort of concrete lead. Something that would hold up under scrutiny that he could sell to his boss. His boss was fundamentally a good guy and if presented with some type of evidence, he would do the right thing, never mind the political pressure. At least that's what Dell hoped.

"I thought I would start with the MIT Library again, only because it's somewhat familiar and I can find my way around. I can at least find out about some of the publicly available financial information, who's who in what company and their respective boards and such. A lot of that I can find through on-line sources. I could go through some of the municipal offices to see what else I could learn. I may have to visit them in person if they don't have some of the details on-line. I was thinking about the so-called 'silent' partners or board members, especially of companies that are privately held and do not issue stock.

"I know quite well the organization chart of the Viiradium upper management since I am a human resource manager. We pretty much know all of the management, at least by name. I'll start my digging with those people and go from there.

"Also, the information from Chris had not only the sketch of the flow of data but also included some names which appear to be names of companies. I started to check them out last night , but I need to do more thorough work."

Dell responded with a sigh, "I normally would strongly object to any involvement from a witness, especially one that's a victim as well. In your case, not only a victim, but a fugitive. However, right now, I hate to admit, it sounds like the best plan we can hope for. At the end of the day, we need to compare notes to see what turns up. You give me any information you can find that seems promising, and I'll attack it from the police perspective. It's going to be tough getting things like phone records, in fact it used to be impossible, but I should be able to cover up my information requests under the guise of day to day investigation work."

She was quite shocked at his support. 'Almost too easy' she thought. She realized she was being paranoid again, but being paranoid is what's kept her alive so far. She couldn't help but appreciate his disarming smile of encouragement and even felt herself blush a little under his appraising look.

She looked out through the window and said, "I really hate to take the car downtown. It kind of stands out and I would have to find places to park and such. If we drive over to the Clarendon Hill area, you can drop me off at the Tee at Russell Field." The Tee is the term the locals used for the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority or MBTA. "I could take the orange line crossover to get to downtown when I'm through at the libraries."

"How will you get back?"

"I'll just get off at the end of the red line and catch a taxi or a bus back, it isn't that far from here, or from where I'm staying for that matter."

"Mind if I ask where exactly you are staying?"

"Not letting anyone know is my one way of feeling a little safer. So I don't mean to be rude, but I would rather not... Sorry."

"Well, I can understand that. But, if you needed help and I knew where to find you, It would sure make things easier. Especially since it's your safety that you are thinking of. It would be safer if someone knew where to get to you in an emergency." Then he added rather ominously, "And I have a feeling, before this is over, there will be emergencies."

After considering it thoughtfully, she decided that he was probably right. He only seemed in a position to help. She opened up her purse and handed over a yellowing card she picked up at the check-in desk of the motel.

He looked at it and felt genuine remorse at what she was going through – trapped in a dumpy place like this one was. He understood she needed to feel safe and no doubt staying with him would only add to her anxiety, so he understood, but he still felt bad for what she was enduring. He slipped the card into a shirt pocket and pulled out his wallet to pay the bill.

*

Enrique studied the couple as they finally emerged from the diner. As she sort of hopped down the two steps, her blond hair bounced in a sensual way and finally settled in a sort of disorganized but attractive heap. He had to look away for fear of being noticed in that 'I feel like I'm being watched' kind of way. He swore to himself though when they did not go their separate ways – they both got into the cop's car. He was hoping to follow the girl on her own.

He studied the car they drove as they went past, a late dark blue Malibu. After a moment, Enrique pulled out of his parking spot and began following. He didn't think of it as following, more like "stalking". He was skilled. It would be unlikely that anyone would detect he was following Dell and Mara. His secret lay in attempting to anticipate the direction his prey would take. People didn't just drive aimlessly, they had a purpose, a destination. Once you figured out the general direction they were headed in, you could relax a bit. Seem a little more natural in your own driving and not draw attention to yourself by sudden stops or quick turns.

It looked like they were headed toward the Clarendon Hill area from the direction they were headed. It wasn't that Enrique lived in the area that he was so familiar with the layout, he just had a very good sense of direction and he had been to the Metro Boston area several times in the past.

As he approached the Russell Field Tee station a few moments behind them, he became furious. The cop was just pulling away and he caught a glimpse of the girl as she disappeared into the Tee facility. If she happened to catch a train before he could get in there, he would lose her. Where the heck was she going? He hadn't foreseen this and could kick himself for letting it happen.

He haphazardly pulled to the curb and jumped out of the car. As he walked past the rear bumper and stepped up to the sidewalk he heard shouting. It was a traffic cop, or rather a "parking enforcement officer" who just happened to be there to "enforce" the parking requirements of the station. The "officer" ran up to Enrique and immediately began to argue.

"Hey, hold on a sec, that spot is strictly for unloading passengers! You gotta move it!"

In his most cultured voice, Enrique replied, "Oh, excuse me, I'll just be a moment, my party should be arriving just now."

"I'm sorry pal, you can't leave it there, you'll have to move it. There's plenty of space over in the lot." He indicated a lot about 150 meters down and across the street. Enrique was really getting angry. While he stood here and debated with this drip of a cop, his prey was likely to be making her escape. He had to make a fast decision. He abruptly turned and headed straight for the Tee leaving the cop standing there in mid sentence.

As he reached the steps, he sensed that the cop was approaching from behind, the cop wasn't hiding the fact that he was mad by the way he noisily stomped after Enrique. The cop was about to reach up and grab Enrique by the shoulder. However, Enrique anticipated the move and spun toward the cop at the last moment. Using the momentum of his turn, he came around and grabbed the outstretched arm of the cop and spun him around. The cop was taller than Enrique, so it was easy for him to step right into the cops space, buckling his knees with his own right leg and stepping in front of the cop with his left leg. The cop went down hard and fast.

Again Enrique turned toward the station. He knew it was a stupid move, because now there was no turning back. He had limited his options to escaping by train only. The police would impound the car and that meant he would have to find another one.

He threw money at the ticket attendant and frantically scrambled into the main concourse with a sickening dread. The Russell Field station was small, in fact it had only one track heading into the Metro complex. The place looked rather empty. He realized the train had already left.

At this point there was only one place to go...
Chapter 19

Dell spent the day fretting, worrying and fiddling around at the Bedford Station. He realized he must have reached new heights of unproductivity because he didn't really accomplish anything. He spent a considerable amount of time on the computer researching what he could from the various data sources available to him, but didn't really turn up anything significant. The phone records were available, but that was usually like sifting through a mountain of dirt to find one small gem. He needed more information. This was going to be one tough investigation. Especially since he was out in the cold with no "official" help from the police. Plus he had real cases to investigate that he couldn't ignore. If the boss knew he was working on the Viiradium case, a case Dell was forbidden to work, he would look like an exploding tomato of rage.

He hadn't heard from Mara, but it was still early afternoon. He debated calling her room, but decided the less contact, the safer. He put the motel card back in his pocket and was considering heading home since he wasn't doing much here. He hoped she was able to turn up something that he could use in his own research. He thought about setting up a mini 'base of operations' for the investigation in his little corner study. He couldn't keep anything around here out in the open.

He understood that he was getting too involved with the case. Sneaking around, disobeying orders. But wasn't it the right thing to do? No, not really involved with the case, with her. It was strange for him to feel so strongly about a witness. Most of the time a witness for a case had secret motives, hidden agendas, they couldn't be trusted much more than the suspects.

He had to admit, she was very attractive – especially with the new hair. And, she wasn't really a witness, she was more of a victim. Victims were innocent. Every rational thought in his brain told him to cut this off. Get out now. She was too young for him. (Well, not really). She was not guilty of anything, so leave her alone. (But she was scared, in trouble, and needed someone to help her).

He brought himself out of his musings and collected all the material he had laying around with regard to the case and shuffled it into his carrying bag. He indicated to the watch desk that he was heading out to do some interviews (a lie really) and left. On the way home he tried to arrange in his mind the steps that he would need to take to make better progress in the investigation. He also spent more time looking over his shoulder that he usually did. Wow, he realized, this case was even beginning to make HIM a little paranoid.

As he entered his place, he was thinking about clearing out some space in the study and setting up files and notes, really laying out the events so far. The act of writing down all the facts and organizing them was a useful trick familiar to most good investigators. It helped to sift through the clues, make inferences and to let your intuition be your guide to the next steps.

His mind was so preoccupied, he barely noticed the man casually sitting on the sofa. He gasped in surprise and had to consciously think about not dropping his carry bag at the sight of a perfect stranger making himself at home in his living room. He instinctively drew his .45 semi-automatic from its holster under his jacket and in one smooth move, tossed the carry bag aside, thumbed off the safety and leveled the gun at the intruder.

"There will be no need for guns." Said the man calmly. "I have only come to talk."

"Just the same, when a stranger breaks into my house, I don't take it very well."

"Trust, me. I entered without breaking anything and mean you no harm." Dell noticed the man had a Hispanic accent of some sort, not the kind you hear in street gangs, but more educated. His mind raced with all sorts of possibilities as he circled around the sofa to take a position more face on. With all that was happening with Mara's case, there had to be connection somehow. That meant danger. He continued to keep his gun cautiously fixed on the intruder and was careful not to get too close.

"No doubt you are wondering why I am here, Yes?" said the stranger.

"No kidding." Was all Dell could say.

"My visit concerns a mutual friend of ours, Mara Chandler."

"What do you want with Mara?"

"It seems she is in considerable danger and I don't believe she understands the real peril she is in." Enrique was really pouring on the charm. He seemed so disarming and sincere. He smiled to emanate warmth and looked dour and concerned when he needed too.

Dell thought he seemed sincere, but he could trust no one. Not after the elaborate steps the bad guys have taken so far, both to cover their own tracks and to set up Mara to take the fall for her own family's extreme abuse. Especially from a guy that apparently could break in without doing any damage. A real pro. "If you wanted to talk, I'm available. Breaking in is not the polite way that we gain someone's trust around here. Perhaps if you had just used the telephone like everyone else..." He couldn't help but bleed sarcasm and indignity as he spoke.

Enrique was nonplused "I do apologize for my intrusion, however, the situation requires urgency."

"What's so urgent that couldn't wait for me to come home so that you could just knock?"

"Ms. Chandler has a brother, Chris. It seems he disappeared a few days ago. The same people that apparently are responsible for this are also after Mara. It has something to do with Chris' work and I'm not sure how Mara got involved, but these people are pretty serious." It practically gagged him to be so congenial to a lousy cop, but he had to find out where Mara was staying and this fool probably knew. He was beginning to doubt that the cop would cooperate, he wouldn't even put the gun down. Cops and their silly preoccupation with guns. He would have to wait for the right moment. In the meantime, it was important to keep the conversation going.

Dell felt himself flush a little, here was someone that might actually know something. But still he was wary. It just didn't feel right. "Who are you?" Dell demanded in a more abrupt tone than he intended.

"My name is Eduardo Lucazi" Enrique lied glibly. "I was a friend of Chris. We were supposed to go on a weekend trip to do some mountain climbing together. He indicated he was having troubles at work and was rather concerned over it. Then he called to let me know that his troubles were bigger than he thought and he was actually quite worried. That was the last I heard from him. I went to contact his sister..."

"Hold on a minute. Could I see some identification? Dell asked. "And no funny business, I'm the one with the gun, Remember?"

As Enrique stood up and slowly reached into his inner jacket pocket to retrieve his wallet, he continued, "Really, I mean no harm. I was only concerned about the two of them. I know she made efforts to contact you, so I wanted to help."

Enrique smoothly drew out a wallet and with a movement that seemed almost graceful, simply used it to slap forcefully at the gun in Dell's grip. Dell was caught totally off guard by the move as the gun and the wallet went flying off to the right, landing almost perfectly in the adjacent chair.

All sorts of warning alarms went off in Dell's head as he realized he'd been had. His first thought was to recover the gun. That was what Enrique had expected and it was Dell's biggest mistake. Enrique used Dell's turning toward the chair slightly to step up and around him. He withdrew his favorite weapon from his left sleeve. A custom stiletto with an engraved ebony handle. It never made a big mess, but was very effective.

Enrique was shorter than Dell, but now standing behind Dell as Dell went for the gun, got his arm over Dell's elbow and positioned the needle sharp point of the stiletto at the soft flesh under Dell's chin. A slight jab upward made Dell Freeze in his attempt to retrieve the gun. In shocked disbelief, Dell wondered where the heck the weapon came from.

"All I want to know is where she is!" Enrique sad in a raspy voice. It was quite a struggle to maintain a firm grip on the large cop and hold the point with just enough pressure to get the guy's attention.

Dell had to get the gun back. This guy was toast. He felt the adrenaline surge through his body as sheer rage came over him. Through clenched teeth he replied, "I don't know! She wouldn't tell me." With that, he forcefully stomped on the instep of his attacker's left foot in an attempt to distract him for an instant. An instant is all he would need. Instead, Enrique drove the stiletto straight upward.

The pain was absolute. Sure, Enrique's foot hurt like heck too, but Dell felt the stiletto just miss his tongue as it came through the bottom of his mouth. He tasted blood and couldn't stop it from erupting from his lips. Enrique let loose with a whole string of what must have been expletives in Spanish. His foot hurt bad enough, but look what the stupid cop made him do! Now there was blood everywhere!

Enrique limped around to the front of Dell, jerking his head around using the stiletto as a handle. Dell's vision suffered uncontrolled watering. He felt himself go lightheaded both from shock and the idea of what was happening and at this point he was almost defenseless.

Enrique used his free left hand to do a quick search of Dell's jacket breast pockets. He collected Dell's wallet and easily found the card to Mara's motel in the pocket of Dell's shirt.

The combination of the shock, the adrenaline and sheer pain began to work together to turn Dell into an animal. A low growl that became more of a horse scream came out of his throat as he use both hands to grab Enrique's hand and rip out the stiletto. He kicked where he thought Enrique's legs would be and landed a solid one into the side of his knee. This forced Enrique off balance and gave Dell a moment to lunge for the gun.

He half stumbled and half flopped on the chair where the gun lay. He felt his hand wrap around the familiar grip and he rolled to try to get a line on Enrique. Now that he knew where Mara could be found, Dell had to stop him at all costs. At first he didn't see Enrique, especially as his eyes continued to water. He realized his target was coming up from the floor between the sofa and Dell's back. Dell rolled a bit more and fired, but instantly felt a searing pain in his right side and realized that he had again been the pin cushion for the deadly stiletto. Unfortunately, the shot went wide and Enrique bolted, or rather scurried for the door – looking a bit monkey-like with his limp. He had to leave his beloved stiletto behind, still sticking out of the side of his victim.

*

The afternoon had been long and tedious. After doing battle with the dour librarian of the municipal records, Mara was ready for a drink and a hot shower. The campus libraries had been the most helpful and she had a lot a material that she copied or printed to take with her and go over later. She was also anxious to see Dell. She stopped at a shop in the campus area to pick up a set of cheap play clothes to change into. She had to wash the ones she was wearing before they took on a life of their own.

On the train ride back to the suburbs, she reviewed in her mind some of the material she had discovered. Almost everyone at the top of Viiradium was involved in some way or had a stake in the interest of other companies. Some sat on the boards or acted as hired consultants. She wondered how they even got things done at their regular jobs with all the extracurricular activities of the executives.

The most obvious outside activity was the fact that Chairman and Chief Executive Officer if the company, Bob Danvers, was running for Massachusetts state governor.

She was more interested in what was not so obvious. If there was something to hide, then it wouldn't be so easy to find, would it?, she thought to herself. During the course of the day, she began to make a chart of the facts. She was hoping to use the chart to then sift through what she knew and what she found out and hopefully come up with the next steps to take in the investigation. Between all the research she did and Dell's help, she was hopeful that they would make good progress and start to make some serious progress soon. She financially wouldn't be able to hold up much longer.

She took the time during the day to set up an account on one of the free e-mail sites. She did a little research to find the e-mail address of the companies that were identified on Chris' sketch. They included Riptide Softworks, Sequitus Technologies and Taligent. She sent an e-mail inquiry to all of the "sales", "info" and "webmaster" users at each one. Her message was simply a probe, a fishing exercise. She would have to get back to a computer with access to the internet to check her messages to see if any replies were received. Her message was the same to each one, just an inquiry about any possible encounters with data theft even though they might believe the data to be adequately protected by strong encryption techniques. She hoped her message would make it through the junk mail filters of each organization.

She found herself distracted a bit too often by thoughts of Dell. She was glad that he didn't seem to have any romantic attachments in his life. She hoped that he didn't think she was too young. What was she doing? Her mother's murdered body was still warm and she was thinking of herself! She had to stay focused and keep her mind from any exploration of frivolous infatuation.

She got off the train at the Russell Field station with the rest of the day's workforce and bustled outside to find a taxi. There would be a few this time of the day, but there was also likely to be a lot of people needing them since it was the evening rush. She had no problem and realized that most people simply couldn't afford a taxi in their daily commute and had cars parked in the lot or someone to pick them up or a bus or something.

After an exhausting day, she paid the driver and approached the motel on foot carrying all of her notes and material she had copied or printed from the library and a shopping bag of clothes. She approached cautiously, but didn't note anything out of the ordinary and eventually fumbled with the key to get the door open. She was tired enough to barely notice the cold as she shoved the door shut with her foot and flopped her armload of papers and notes on the bed.

The first order of business was a hot shower and fresh clothes. It would be a little odd not washing the new stuff first, but at this point what choice was there? She got into the shower fully clothed and undressed under the beam of steaming water. At least the fatigued little motel had a decent shower. She hadn't realized how difficult it was to get out of sopping wet clothes, they sort of stuck to you. She piled everything in the corner of the tub and stood under the hot spray letting the steam relax her.

She toweled off and rejoiced in the delicious feeling of clean underwear. She also splurged when she was at the store and treated herself to a nice fluffy, crimson bathrobe. She was rubbing her hair dry and noticed in the mirror a remarkable improvement over the last time she looked.
Chapter 20

It was a real pup getting around. He couldn't believe the damage that creep of a cop did to his foot. It was black and blue and hurt like heck, but at least it wasn't broken. It made the regular job chores of stealing another car and switching plates a bit tougher.

Now he sat hunched in front seat in the twilight outside the dumpy motel and waited a moment before going to her door. 'Let her get settled first' he thought to himself.

After a moment he made his way to the door. Before knocking, he checked once more to be sure he had all of the materials he would need. The one consolation to the pain in his foot was that he was really looking forward to this. He never had to do a good looking young girl before. He rapped on the door and pasted a most sincere smile on his face.

Mara's first thought was, 'Dell!" However, getting bashed around a few times tended to make one rather wary. She cautiously approached the door, made sure at least that the flimsy chain lock was set and asked "Yes?"

"Miss Chandler?" Came the reply.

It definitely wasn't Dell. Since no one else knew she was staying here, the air on the back of her neck stood up. This could not be a good thing, she told herself. How could anyone know that 'Miss Chandler' was staying here? Even at the front desk, she paid in advance with cash and used an alias. Her pulse quickened further as her mind raced with possibilities. Unfortunately, her mind came up with none. She looked around for a weapon, but could really see nothing useful.

"Excuse me, Miss Chandler? It's very important that I get you out of here. I was sent by... ah, Dell."

She felt foolish yelling through the door. "Why didn't Dell come himself?"

Enrique shouted back, "He was working on a case today and was injured, quite badly I'm afraid. He felt you were in grave danger and wanted me to get you out of here." Enrique was getting nervous that someone might hear the conversation, but he didn't notice anyone around and there didn't seem to be many cars. There was a little sports car parked in the lot, but not much else.

"Who are you?" Mara yelled to the door. She felt nauseous thinking about Dell. Was he ok? Was he hurt working on this case? Where was he? In a hospital?

"My name is Emmanuel LaSolla. I work with Dell. If you want, just peek through the door and I will show my badge."

She debated a moment, but could think of no other course of action but to at least verify the story she was hearing. At this point nothing would surprise her and she felt even somehow responsible and sorry for Dell knowing he probably was suffering now due to her problems. She undid the main latch but left the chain lock engaged. She put her face by the edge of the door and cracked it open slightly.

The door had barely opened a crack when it exploded inward. The base of the cheap chain lock easily splintered the wood frame of the door and she was caught full force in the cheek and chest with Enrique's kick. She sprawled backward, stumbled across the bottom corner of the bed and toppled over landing hard with her back to the floor and her legs still up on the bed. The kick and the fall took their toll and she was fighting for breath with the wind being knocked right out of her.

Enrique was glad that it was his left foot that was bruised. He wouldn't have been able to do such a superb job of dispatching the door if he couldn't use his right foot. He entered the room and swung the door shut behind him. He turned and strode across the room to Mara and looked down on her dazed expression. "What a ditz" He mumbled. "I guess that's what happens when you bleach your hair blond, you get even dumber!"

He roughly kicked her legs off the bed and demanded she get off the floor. He got a glimpse of the full length of her bare legs and slender figure as the robe she was wearing landed haphazardly and felt a surge of excitement.

Her chest and face hurt and she was still gasping to get her breath. She rolled onto her hands and knees and Enrique stepped up and straddled her back. He paused for a moment as he pulled the damp rag out of the plastic bag in his pocket. He bent down and roughly jammed it into Mara's face and firmly held it there.

Since she still struggling for breath, the anesthetic wasn't acting as fast as it normally would have. He was sitting on her like a horse and she simply couldn't get up. She managed to make a Herculean effort to get one of her hands up to frantically claw at his hand. In absolute terror she was trying to claw his skin right off his hand if it was possible. It caused him to loosen the pressure just enough for her to manage to sink her teeth into the spot where his thumb connected to his palm.

He howled and from behind, swung hard with his left hand into the side of her face. She buckled under his weight and was feeling the world swimming from the effects of the drug. The absolute fear was pumping enough adrenaline to keep her going, but he landed squarely on her side, yanked her head back by the hair and jammed the soaked cloth over her mouth and nose.

*

Mara became aware of her consciousness as if coming out of a dream. She believed she was awake, but couldn't see anything. She came to the understanding that it was just very dark and very quiet. Too quiet. Too dark. She began remembering some of the recent events – the door being kicked in and knocking her down. The attack. At least she wasn't dead... Yet. She tried to sit up but was not able to. She seemed to be laying on her back on something very firm, but covered with a soft silky material.

She realized that she was so confined in the unyielding surroundings that she could not really manage to even get her arm up to her face to feel her sore lips and cheek.

Dread overcame her as it dawned on her that she was inside a coffin!

"Nooo! She screamed. Her mind began to go wildly out of control. Has she already been buried? Did they mistake her for dead? No, there was no mistake, she was still wearing the robe. So it must have been the man that attacked her. Is this the way he chose to finally kill her? Bury her alive? How much air did she have left? Would screaming help? In despair, she realized there was little she could do – except go completely nuts – to escape alive from this situation. She realized she was as good as dead.

All of the sudden the coffin became unbearably close. She began to panic as her breath shortened. Was the air running out? It seemed to be getting hotter. She could feel sweat on her face and underarms. She had a terrible urge to wipe her face but couldn't manage to get her hand up to it. She tried to slow her breathing and hopefully try to cool off a bit. Getting excited about this was not going to help. Even so, she couldn't help but to break down in sobs of anguish. Tears added to the sweat as they streamed down her face.

How could this be her? Her entire family, wiped out in a week – For what? Money? Knowledge? To keep a big secret? Was her life so insignificant that people could simply throw it away? She didn't even have a clue as to who was responsible! Oh sure, it was Viiradium for certain, but who? It couldn't be the whole company. Someone was responsible.

She had no way to measure the passage of time. She knew that it must only be measured in minutes because the air supply couldn't be all that much, but it seemed like she was in this thing for hours. She wanted to go to the bathroom, but was determined to hold it rather that wet herself. She even began to hallucinate. She saw fleeting images of motion out of the corner of her eye, but whenever she tried to look in the direction of the image, she never could get a real look at it. Only palpable blackness. She felt it odd, that a bit of cooler air could be felt down by her feet and legs.

She wondered if the coffin was simply meant to be some sort of a queer prison torture and fresh air was being made available to keep her alive. That meant she could have been in here for a lot longer that she originally thought. Was she imagining the different temperature air? Was she simply being hopeful?

She never realized how hard it would ever be to simply do nothing. To be forced to do nothing. She was going nuts. She realized that if Dell were within reach, she could probably kill him. She took extreme steps to reveal her location to the one and only confidant she had, someone she thought she could trust, who only ends up doing the ultimate betrayal. She should never have given him that card. He only used it against her. So much for his so called 'on the job injury'.

Did that mean he was in on this from the beginning? He was only leading her along? Trying to extract whatever he could from her? Now he knew what she knew. She told him about the Tomb. She told him about what it meant – her visit with Professor Tattinger. Did he realize that she simply knew too much and there was nothing to do but eliminate her? Just like her mother? Like Chris? What a creep!

She was startled when the coffin lid wad flipped up unexpectedly and in a dim light, was confronted with her attacker face to face. She noticed with curiosity that the coffin was one of those split models and that the bottom half of the lid was propped slightly to allow some air in. She noticed with satisfaction that the man's hand was bandaged both front and back evidently from the wounds inflicted during her heroic clawing and biting .

"I see you are done with your little nap." Said the attacker sarcastically. She thought she detected some sort of an accent in the words. From the look of him, probably Spanish. He continued, "I've really had enough of you, no heroic attempts at saving yourself this time. I won't have any problem closing that lid for good."

She looked at him for a long moment and knew he was serious. "Why?" was all she could come out with.

"A simple matter of business." He replied.

"Why kill my mother?"

"That wasn't me, simply an unfortunate accident. I can see where you get your spirited energy from. I understand that she put up quite a fight but lost."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Your friends at the police have been very helpful. I will have to send them a Thank You."

Her heart sank. Dell. How could she have fallen for that? He seemed so sincere! What treason! What deception! She could honestly say that she could kill him if given the opportunity.

"Why did you kill my brother?"

"Your brother? Oh he's not dead. At least not right now. Too bad you won't be seeing him again though. I'm sure he will be quite upset to hear the news of your death."

That was a terrifying statement. It meant that she was indeed to be killed and not just held in this prison setting. It was likely that this man was simply a hired hand. Someone to do their dirty work. Someone who could care less for her. Simply a job for which he would be paid. Again, that feeling of dire helplessness. She had to keep talking.

"Then why me?"

"Lots of reasons. Politics, money, power. You are in the way of some rich and influential people."

"They are willing to go through this to keep the tomb secret?"

"Tomb? I do not know about or care of their details. As I said this is simple business."

"Then why not my brother? You said he was still alive. Doesn't he carry the same risk to your people if he is left alive?"

"Again, business. Apparently, he's just too valuable to simply throw out. You, on the other hand, are nothing but a liability. Now that I've had to deal with you myself, I can see that." He indicated his bandaged hand.

"So Viiradium, the Jewel of the Stock market, the Darling of investors and advocate of all of it' employees, making the data world safer for our private data is nothing but a corrupt, greedy power hungry thug! Kidnapping and murdering those who stand in the way. It seems unbelievable, don't you think?"

"I know nothing of them. I only deal with people. What they do in their lives is not my concern. Besides, it is not them that have made use of my 'unique' services."

"So you are saying that Viiradium is not responsible for this?"

"It is not important nor is it your concern any longer."

She couldn't believe she was candidly sitting here having a seemingly casual conversation with her own killer. "I know this sounds like a very bad cliché, but I really do have to go to the bathroom."

"After what you have put me through so far, I could care less." He replied. However, he didn't want her wetting herself. Actually he was wondering exactly what to do with her. He was really looking forward to having a little fun with someone who looked as good as her and would only be dead shortly anyway. That's why he didn't mind answering any of her questions. Especially gratifying was seeing her look when he made the police sound like they were his personal agents.

If he let her get up, she would undoubtedly try to escape. Catching her trying to escape would be the most fun he'd had in a long time, so letting her go to the bathroom would be the best thing to do. The best place to start.

After a pause of consideration, he said, "The bathroom's right over there. I know you are feeling desperate, so no funny stuff. Just remember... how painful do you want it to be?"

She struggled up and out of the coffin and landed lightly on the cold floor. She realized she was in some sort of workroom with all the tools and paraphernalia that a Damianuary must use to process dead bodies for that final resting place, though she had never really seen the back room of a Damianuary before. She paused as she noticed all of her belongings from the motel piled up on a stainless steel cart, even her wet things from the shower. Enrique noticed her puzzled expression and said, "Don't look surprised, I couldn't leave any evidence behind, could I? It looks like you left the motel on your own. I even stuck the chain lock sort of back together. It's a good thing you're small, stuffing your pathetic little body into the tiny boot of that piece of crap of a car you have was a real challenge." he said with a wicked grin. The thought of him touching her while she was unconscious made her feel literally nauseous.

He continued, "the bathroom is right over there. Oh, don't worry, there's no window. The only way in or out is that door. I'll be waiting right here for you."

She stiffly hobbled toward the bathroom. She couldn't believe how sore she was. The ceramic floor was like ice on her bare feet. She couldn't suppress the shiver that momentarily grabbed her like some ghoul from the world beyond. Once inside the bathroom, she fumbled with the old brass slide lock on the door. Even though she was freezing, her nerves were causing her to sweat considerably. She settled her back against the door, put her head back and closed her eyes. Her legs acted as if they belonged to someone else as they quivered with the shakes of terror. As she began to rethink her situation, she thought that staying in the coffin would probably have been the better choice. Slowly running out of air and dozing into a black, suffocating sleep would surely be preferable to whatever that monstrosity that was in control of her life must have in mind right now.

After relieving herself in the toilet stall, she washed and splashed a bit of cool water on her face. She had to calm down and think! The situation seemed entirely hopeless. She noticed the nasty bruise on her cheek from the motel door. Her legs hurt from the kicks she had received – in fact she looked rather horrible. There indeed was no other way out of the shabby little bathroom except the door she came in. At the moment, she was simply trapped in this dingy cell until he decided he'd waited enough and decided to smash the door in. There was only an old porcelain sink on a vanity with a single door, the single stall with the toilet and a cheap, rusting towel dispenser in the room. There was a fluorescent light overhead out of her reach and the remains of a fan that apparently no longer worked since it wasn't moving any of the stale air from the tired room. She paced back and forth for a moment examining every detail of the room trying to think of what to do. How could she escape from this one? Her right leg continued to be racked with muscle quivers that she could not seem to control. She knew that he would be getting impatient any moment and this only increased her anxiety. Her heart was beating so wildly, she could feel the pulse throb in her neck.

She examined the room closely looking for anything she could use. She opened the vanity door and saw a few cleaning supplies that apparently were not used as much as they needed to be, but that was it. She went into the stall and re-examined the toilet. It was the residential sort with a water storage tank mounted on the bowl.

She was startled so much when he pounded on the door, a barely stifled yelp squeaked through her lips. Out of desperation, she lifted the heavy porcelain top from the back of the toilet tank and carried it out of the stall toward the door. She had no idea what she thought she could possibly accomplish with it, it was pretty tough just carrying the thing let alone trying to whack somebody with it. However, at this point she had no options – she had the most to lose.

He screamed, "You've been long enough! Get out of there now!" She simply stood adjacent to the door tightly clutching the toilet tank cover so entirely scared that her right leg seemed like it had a mind of its own. She really had the shakes. She supposed this is what war trauma victims must feel like. So completely terrified that you're not going to make it out alive. Hoping and praying for some sort of miracle to save your skin, knowing that there isn't much you can do but stand there and tremble beyond control.

He kicked loudly at the door and let loose a string of what sounded like Spanish and she assumed the words were of the very derogatory kind. Enrique was thinking that she was probably scared out of her wits right about now. He didn't really want to bust the door because he was hoping to leave the place looking pretty much like he'd found it. If no one suspected anything out of the ordinary happened, there would be no cause for thought or worse, for an investigation. But, she seemed to leave him little choice. He had just about enough of her and thought that he would go in and finish her off right here.

She heard him bang on the door a couple more times, then he remained quiet for a few moments. She was a quick learner and she knew better than to stand near the door again. As if on cue, the door buckled under the force of something very significant ramming into it. The place where the brass slide lock engaged started to splinter a bit. She quickly thought to flip the light off in some vain attempt to make things a bit more difficult for him. Standing in a robe and being suddenly plunged into complete blackness was not at all comforting, one more hit like that and the door would be open. With that thought, the door flew inward and slammed into the wall as he stumbled into the room silhouetted in the light from the hall. Without hesitation she advanced a step and swung the lid with all the strength she could muster.
Chapter 21

"Hello, Michael Ludwik..." was his typical way of answering the phone in his office. He noted from the clock that it was well after 6:00 PM and wondered who would still be here who would want to talk to him.

"Mike, it's Annette. I have an interesting message that I think you will want to see right away. It's about our suspected data theft problem."

"What is it?"

"If you have a couple of minutes, I want to bring it by. I would just forward it to you, but, at this point, I don't trust anything, not even our internal systems."

He waited a few moments before she arrived and pondered over what it could be this time. She popped into his office, quietly swung the door closed and sat in front of his desk. She wordlessly slid a piece of paper across his desk and waited for a reaction.

After quickly skimming through the message, he inquired, "Where did you get this?"

"It was sent from an outside email to our 'info' mailbox. Jill receives all messages addressed to that mail location and she thought that I would be the appropriate person since I am the one who does most of the systems security work. As you can see, it raises the level of suspicion we have about the integrity of the data being sent on the network."

The paper contained a message from someone identified as MC65543 at one of the large, free e-mail sites on the internet.

"Have you replied to this yet?" Mike asked.

"No, I wanted to talk to you first. I thought that we should reply, but I don't know about the validity of the information. We get a ton of spam on that address, but we look through it before discarding. This one would have been tossed too, except with everyone here being warned to be extra cautious Jill thought it might be worth looking at. I do not know this person or what the source of these claims are. It's just that we were talking about this very thing, and 'Tada!' we get this message shortly afterwards. Sounds a little too far-fetched to be circumstantial. Could someone here have known about our conversation? Could this be some sort of hoax to distract us?"

The message made the strong insinuation that encrypted data was not necessarily 'safe' and asked if there has been any suspected instance where confidential data may have been exposed and used against the sender.

To Annette, it seemed impossible that e-mails sealed with 128 bit strength encryption could possibly be stolen and then successfully decrypted by the thief and used against them. Even the government used the same level of encryption. It had to be safe. She understood enough about the process to know that the effort required to do this was so large that it became a virtual impossibility. 40 Bit encryption could be 'broken' by today's powerful personal computers in a short time. But each additional bit effectively doubles the effort required. That was 88 more bits or... trillions of times more difficult. In other words, a mathematical impossibility.

No, it must be that someone right here at Sequitus knew about the suspicions they had and sent this message as some sort of a decoy.

Mike continued, "You don't think this is really valid, do you?"

"Well, it seems too unlikely. These encryption methods are very good. They're in use all over the world for all sorts of private data transmissions."

"Well, we need to reply to this message. At this point it's only one more lead, but it can't be ignored. We don't want to reveal anything that could expose us in the message, but we could say something like 'we very are interested in understanding the means behind such a possibility and would like to discuss the matter with him or her'."

"OK. I will see what I can set up. Actually, I do hope this is only a decoy. I can't imagine the problems we all face if today's current standards are in some sort of real jeopardy."

*

The force of the blow wasn't enough to do serious damage to Enrique. At the last moment he saw the object being swung and threw up a hand to attempt to block it. The heavy lid had enough momentum to knock him back and into the door frame and cause some serious bruising along his arm and face. Colliding with the doorframe with the back of his head didn't improve his situation much either.

While he was dazed by the attack, she dropped the heavy lid and dashed around him, through the door and looked wildly about for some direction to take. The room was pretty cluttered with work tables and equipment of the trade. She could only guess at the gruesome purpose of some of the tools she could see for processing the dead and preparing them for their final presentation in the somber setting of the funeral parlor. She frantically dashed around a work table and crouched down. She tried to peer through the crack between the surface and the base of the unit, but could not make anything out. She could hear him struggling to his feet and kicking the lid out of the way. She thought she could actually hear him chuckle to himself. What kind of demented lunatic was she pitted against? The laughter grew louder. She realized that he was only laughing because he knew she had nowhere to turn. There was no way of escape. He was probably having fun with her vain little attempt at self-preservation.

Well, she wasn't down yet. Scared? Unbelievably! But she intended to fight 'til the end. She had to keep moving. He would not have to look too far to find her cowering there behind the work table. The dim lighting both frustrated her and helped to conceal her. She couldn't see well enough to know what to do next, but it was comforting to be in the dim shroud of concealment. Unfortunately, he would be quite familiar with the layout of the place. She had no idea which way to go.

It looked like there was an exit to either side of the room. The exit to her right was farther, but looked somehow safer, a bit darker. She could use another work table to hide behind and then make her way out. She stayed low and sort of skittered to the next work table. This one had shelves built into the lower portion with all sorts of unrecognizable paraphernalia stored among various bottles of solutions. She gave a frenzied look at the equipment to locate something she might use to defend herself.

She allowed herself a glimpse around the corner of the bench and caught his ghostly silhouette in the light. The half of his face she could make out had streaks of blood running down from the hairline and a dreadful grin stretched across his teeth. A glint of something shiny could be seen in his right hand and she realized it was some sort of weapon. An ice pick perhaps. Her breath caught momentarily and he quickly turned his head in the direction of the sound. She slowly shrank from view and again looked at the shelves. She picked up a polished metal tube that was tapered at one end. She noted that the tapered end actually was cut at an angle and ground to a sharp hollow point, like a giant hypodermic needle. It had some sort of a fixture that must attach to an apparatus of some sort which made a nice grip for her to hold on to.

She held the object tightly and made her way noiselessly further to the right, around the opposite end of the table toward the exit. Not having shoes on gave her an advantage of being able to move quietly. He walked toward her original position and looked under the work table and approached the second table. While he was looking there, she made off down the hall adjacent to the room. The hall made a ninety degree turn to the left and abruptly seemed to end. There was a large steel door that blocked any further progress. She could make out a plaque which identified the room as the 'furnace'. She turned the large latch to open the door and cringed at the sharp clang of the latch. She slipped into the room and again the door clanged shut. The room was totally dark and she felt along the wall searching for a light switch. After a moment of no success, she heard the distinctive clang of the latch of the steel entry door being engaged again.

Her eyes were well adjusted for the darkness and the dim light from the opening door allowed her to see the room somewhat. It was bigger than she expected. There was a track of some sort entering what was apparently a surprisingly small furnace. This must be the place where they did it – cremated people. And here she was trapped with the only way out through the chimney. That was not the way she planned to exit. She scrambled up on the track and hoisted herself to the top portion of the furnace adjacent to the exhaust. She could feel the accumulated soot that must have gathered here over the years.

He advanced into the room a bit and began taunting her, "Oh, this is just perfect. Now I don't have to carry you to this room, you've cooperated and come all by yourself.

"You can't go anyplace. There's only one way out. I could make it quick and easy for you. Some cooperation will help you a great deal.

"You cannot escape..."

He approached further. She shrank back and tried to blend in with the exhaust ductwork, but her light skin and robe made it difficult to hide. While the room was quite large, there was no place to really hide. He must have guessed she was either inside or on the top. He flipped open the door that covered the furnace controls and began the cycle to inurn the contents of the furnace. Somewhere deep in the ductwork, a blower wound up to an annoying pitch and she could feel vibrations within. The whump / rumble of the igniting flames could be heard, but with no screams, the only place left for her to hide would be on top of the furnace.

Enrique hopped up on the track and thought that this would be a great spot to finish this job. He stepped along the track and peered over the top of the furnace. Mara could be seen cowering in the darkness covered with patches of grimy soot.

He laughed out loud, "Ha, Ha, Ha, there you are! Why do you hide from me? It only makes matters worse, yes?"

She had to consciously give thought to not wetting herself she was so scared. She tightly gripped the object which actually turned out to be the long hollow needle or trocar, that was used to suction the fluid material of the chest cavity near the end of the embalming process.

He gave a little hop up enough to seize the lapel of her robe and give her a viscous yank forward. He landed lightly on the track and still had a firm grip with his outstretched arm on the lapel of her robe. She flopped forward and almost toppled completely off the top of the furnace, using her free left hand to catch herself. He harshly dragged her forward to the edge and pressed his face against hers. His hot breath on her face was like poison. She imagined what it must feel like just moments before being eaten by a shark. Out of desperation, she turned the lance to hold it in a dagger-like fashion and brought it around and thrust it towards him. At the last instant he saw it coming and turned his face away and the lance sank deeply into the side of his neck.

He shrieked and jumped backward. The backwards pull of her weapon planted firmly in its target yanked her off the top of the furnace and she went sprawling directly onto him. He stepped backwards under her weight... into nothing but thin air. As he tumbled off the track he twisted in an attempt to land better, and the turning motion caused the trocar to be yanked out of his neck. Mara came down on the track and landed badly on her left wrist and side. She felt something pull sharply in her wrist along with a sound that reminded her of hair being pulled out. She yelped at the pain that shot through her left arm and finally let go of her weapon and heard it clatter to the floor on the opposite side of the track.

She lay still for a moment gasping for breath and heard a groan from Enrique. She swung her legs from the track, hopped to the floor, bent to pick up her lance and fled the room. Once in the hallway, she paused, turned back and slammed the steel door to the furnace room shut. She managed to jam the bloody weapon she was holding into the latch mechanism to prevent it from being lifted from the inside. 'That ought to hold him for a while' she thought to herself. She could perceive that her left wrist was already beginning to swell.

She made her way back to through the hallway and laboratory to the original room where she first woke to this nightmare. She found her belongings piled on a cart where she saw them earlier and quickly removed the soot and blood covered robe. "At least it's someone else's blood for a change' she thought to herself. Even pulling on the rumpled pair of sweat pants was tough with the pain in her wrist. By the time she had a shirt and jacket on, it was really beginning to throb. Her other clothes were still wet from the shower at the motel room so she just stuffed everything into a plastic grocery bag, picked up her purse and the keys he had tossed next to the pile and began searching for the exit.

Her skin began to crawl at the muffled clang she heard from the direction of the furnace room. While she was dismayed that he was apparently able to recover to some degree, she hoped the clang was only an attempt to gain release from his little prison and not the sound of the door coming free. She hurried the other way and eventually found the back entrance to the sprawling facility. It was surprisingly big for what seemed to be a funeral home.

Once outside she found Dell's little car that he must have used to smuggle her here and got in. After fiddling around with the accelerator a bit to get the car running she wondered how she was going to shift and steer at the same time with such pain in her wrist.
Chapter 22

"What the hell happened?" It was chief Donaldson standing next to Dell's hospital bed. Dell began to openly and honestly review the account of the last day that he could remember. He was hoping that the chief would begin to take this whole case a little more seriously now that someone had tried to murder one of his inspectors. His tongue miraculously escaped any serious damage during the encounter with Enrique, but his lower jaw sure hurt. The wounds were well dressed, stitched and disinfected and he would fully recover, but for now talking took considerable effort.

He went over his secret efforts to help Mara in his belief that she was nothing but an innocent victim of some elaborate, appalling conspiracy. How they planned to work together to uncover who was behind it and try to gather evidence to form a convincing argument to begin a formal investigation.

He related the attack by Enrique. How he was able to make it to the phone to call for help. How Enrique made off with Mara's location. How Dell was now almost certain she would be dead. How it was the fault of the police for looking the other way when a citizen needed protection just because it was too political to be involved. How bitter he felt over the whole sickening thing!

The Chief was slightly taken aback by the implication that this was all somehow his fault, but after considering Dell's account of the situation, it was at least to some degree, indeed his fault. He let himself be guided by selfish preservation and politics. Of course, he didn't think anyone was in any real danger at the time, but now he could see that he really only was a simple pawn in the grand scheme. It revolted him that he let himself be led like this. At the same time, he was rather irritated that one of his senior officers would ignore his direct orders and continue the investigation in secret.

However, there was obviously something behind her story. He almost lost one of his best investigators by his foolishness, but now he knew better. Apparently there was a little more going on between Dell and Mara judging from Dell's willingness to offer personal protection and putting his job on the line to help her.

The chief really wasn't sure how to proceed from here. Who could he go to for help? Wasn't this really beyond the scope of a little police force like his? But if he was getting pressure from high up, would turning this over to the state police only result in the case getting shoved under the carpet again? What was it that was so important to go through this amount of trouble? How could there be so much influence at the state level? What were these people involved in? Had Dell turned up some of the answers to these questions?

So many unknowns. He pressed Dell for more details in spite of the painful way in which he could verbally relate the incident. Dell filled in the details to paint the enormity of the situation. Imagine, someone being able to secretly decode secured data transmissions. Not only being able to, but apparently doing so with a profit motive. Mara had mentioned some big government contract that Viiradium was involved in. No doubt this would mean that government data and secrets could be (and probably would be) not really secrets.

Yes, no doubt, killing a few innocent bystanders like Mara and her family was a small price to pay to protect the scheme from becoming exposed. The murders were really only a blip in the overall picture though. Image the havoc that could be created when secret data was simply sold to the highest bidder. Would they even sell out their own government to the enemy? The crime here was great indeed.

The doctors came in to review Dell's case. The injury to his side was a deep puncture wound. However, the weapon was left in until he arrived at the hospital which sealed the opening to prevent the collapse of a lung. He was pumped full of antibiotics to prevent infection and would be sore for a while, but the doctors felt there was really no need to keep him any longer. He could be discharged, but was given very direct orders to rest. Chief Donaldson wondered if Dell's attacker would return, so he decided to play it safe and post an officer to keep watch. Sort of like a roommate until a clear path forward could be developed and put into effect.

Dell had other ideas. He had had enough of feeling helpless and responsible. He was frantic with worry for Mara's safety and wanted desperately to try to find her. If she still had a chance, she would need him. Who else could she go to? But in the back of his mind he wondered, even if she were alive, would she feel betrayed? The only person alive who knew where she could be found was staying was Dell. Would she think he was somehow responsible for revealing her location to 'them'? He wished he had never made her give him that card. At least if he didn't know where to find her, then neither would they. It was too late for that now, he was determined to see this through to the end.

On the way back to his apartment, the chief and him had a long argument about Dell working the case. The chief stubbornly refused to let Dell work under strict doctor's orders to rest. Dell stubbornly refused to sit around while Mara could be in real trouble – or worse. The case had to be worked before the trail turned cold. They compromised. As long as Dell only worked in the background with another officer, he could help out. Since this was obviously a very sensitive situation to a lot of powerful people, they agreed, the investigation would have to proceed carefully. Quiet inquiries. Careful record searches, but don't stir up any trouble. Keep things casual. Keep things among themselves. Don't engage other state law enforcement options.

The chief waited while Dell carefully washed. He wasn't allowed to take a full shower for another day or so and had to be careful around the stitches and dressing of his chin wounds. Dell's car was still there so they drove to the station separately. They concluded that the best place to start was to find Mara. They put an APB on her and the car she was last using, the little sports car Dell loaned her. He really liked that car, but now it seemed insignificant compared to finding Mara. She did not have a replacement for her cell phone so they could not use that to geo-locate here.

The Chief teamed Dell up with Randy and together they drove to the scene of the motel where Mara was staying. It was a quiet and tense ride for Dell. No one had known to go there until the chief was able to question Dell and hear the details of the events. Dell was the only one who knew where she was staying. Another pair of investigators were meeting Dell at the scene to help gather any evidence. At this point, no one knew if a crime had even been committed yet, but Dell assumed after dealing with a character like the skilled professional that attacked him and left him for dead just so he could find her that there was little hope of finding her there, at least not alive.

He replayed some of the events over in his mind again and wondered what he could have done differently that would have insured that things would have turned out for the better. There wasn't much, that is except one thing. He realized how much he was beginning to feel for this girl and he regretted that he didn't let her know that he really cared for her before things had gone this far.
Chapter 23

Mara was basically homeless... again. As she drove aimlessly through the early morning hours, there were two important things that kept nagging at her thoughts: First that Chris might not be dead afterall and second that some one or some thing other than Viiradium was deeply involved and also responsible for what was going on. Of course this information was supplied by the hired killer who apparently had every intention to silence her for good. But for what reason would he have to lie? For all intents, he was merely giving information to a person that would be dead soon anyway.

Her ultimate course of action would be to find Chris. Exactly how, she had no idea. Of more immediate concern was her current situation. She evidently couldn't trust the police. Even the one guy she thought she could finally trust turned out to be another pawn in this grand game. It was too bad. She actually thought she was falling for the guy. How stupid! Even if he didn't give the information out voluntarily, giving it to him had almost cost her the one thing she still had, her life.

Going anywhere near the office was out of the question. Her apartment, Chris' place or even out to her mother's farm were all bad choices. Especially now that word that she was still not dead would surely reach her pursuers. They would be watching everything. The police too, would be on the lookout. That meant that the little car would probably have to go. It was rather unique and easy to pick out of a crowd. She could probably find another place to hole up, but that wouldn't help her find her brother. One thing for sure, she needed a place to settle down, to relax. To plan. To Think!

Eventually she found herself in the neighborhood of the campus again. As she thought about it, it made good sense. There were all the facilities here she needed. It would have been much easier with a student alumni card, but she was young enough to be a student. She was dressed like one. She could use the library – including the computers she used the other day – to try to do more research (although she didn't know what she would be researching). There were the recreational areas with showers, cafeterias that would be a source of relatively low cost meals, and that just left a place to sleep. At this time of the night she thought that it would be unlikely to get into a dorm unnoticed. There would probably be a need to 'sign in' or something. But there were student lounges around for studying or watching TV or whatever – with couches. Would it be all that unusual for a girl to be found sleeping on a couch while trying to spend the night preparing for a big exam? A place with thousands of people near her age would be a good place to hide – for now.

*

Enrique was furious. Mostly at his own, inept behavior. How could he let this happen? Not that he was in any danger of being apprehended or charged with anything, but the simple fact that the job was not done was reason enough to feel like a complete amateur – especially for one like himself, a so called 'expert'. A man who made his living killing. A professional. Fortunately, the wound in his neck looked worse than it really was. There was a considerable amount of bleeding, but the attack missed any important blood vessels. He probably should consider himself lucky to be alive. The puncture was deep enough to be worried about infection so he would need to get a bit of first aid to ward off any such inconvenience. Now he had more understanding for what most of his victims experienced – except he was still alive.

Sooner or later, someone would find the furnace room door jammed shut and work to eventually let him out. He certainly looked like the victim here with blood stains on much of his clothing so he didn't feel any worry about being accused of wrongdoing.

He began to feel like a caged rat. He nervously paced back and forth in front of the door. It gave him time to consider his situation. As he thought about Mara, he began to feel a soft spot for her. This was highly irregular, but most of his marks were selfish flabby old men or mean spirited, arrogant bastards – never a pretty young woman. Why would they kill her mother? An old woman? Sure, he understood that they didn't mean for her to come to any harm, but they seemed to have gone too far. Why was he even thinking about this? After all, he was mainly motivated by money. But if he let himself be totally controlled by money, then he was really no better than those he was hired to take out. So, he always felt a small bit of pride in knowing that once his targets were gone, the world was just a little better place. But not this time. He even felt sort of... guilty. Was this because he spent time with her? What was that psychological complex called when kidnappers began to have feelings for their victims? Is that what he was feeling? He should have felt hatred for her since she tried to kill him. But her assault was, after all, a desperate, self-preservation move. He would surely have done the same thing. He probably scared the living crap out of her. In fact he was, after all, trying to terrify her. Her reaction should not be surprising. In fact, her fortitude and ability to escape even left him feeling... respect for her.

He was struggling to come to grips with these feelings. Was he finished as a hired killer? Was he starting to feel sorry for his victims? No! In fact, wasn't the typical target really more like the ones that hired him? Yes those were people that needed to become victims. Those were the kind that would leave the world a better place once they were gone. The money for this job wasn't that important.

A plan began forming in his mind when he heard... voices!

*

She found a shower after being rudely kicked off the couch by some sort of custodian and relished the hot spray that worked off some of the accumulated tension of the past day. Unfortunately, she couldn't seem to find a towel and the robe she stuffed into the bag the previous night didn't look fit for even hogs to wear with the mixture of soot and blood streaked through it. She used the wall mounted blow dryer to get most of the water out of her hair and dressed in spite of being a bit wet.

She made her way over to the library again to visit the computers so she could access to the internet. She didn't know exactly where to start, so she thought that checking e-mail would be a good place. She was hoping for a response from one of the messages she sent out the previous day to the companies she was analyzing, but knew that it was improbable that anyone would bother responding to something so far-fetched. Most would consider her message a prank and simply ignore it, if it even made it through the junk mail filters at all.

In spite of her assumptions. She went to the web site that she used for her e-mail and checked her messages. She was surprised that she was already receiving junk mail since she set up her account only a day or so before. There was one potentially promising message from aamritage@sequitus.com. Sequitus Technology was indeed one of the companies she sent inquiries too. She felt as if her heart skipped a beat as she clicked on the message to read it. It began: "We reviewed your message and are very interested in understanding the means behind such a possibility of the loss or theft of encrypted information. We would like to discuss the matter with you further, please contact us."

Then the message concluded with the name and phone number of someone at the company, 'Annette Armatige'. They gave an 800 number as well, so she could at least make a call from a pay phone without having to find change.

Fearful elation was the best way to describe how she felt at the moment. Fearful in the fact that this again could be some sort of trick. She couldn't be too careful. Elated in that she had some purpose. Something to do next. A lead to follow. She didn't know how this would lead her to Chris, but she had to start somewhere. For that matter, she didn't even know if she could believe the creep that told her that Chris was alive, but he didn't seem to have any reason not to since he was confident she wouldn't be around to tell anyone. She send the message to a nearby printer, picked it up and stuffed it into her purse.

Before she made the call, she had to think about how to go about setting up a meeting. If they were simply innocent victims of this scandal, she had little to worry about. However, she was not absolutely sure why Chris had them identified on his sketch. All of the companies she investigated based on his list seemed legitimate with nothing to do with Viiradium except perhaps the use of some of the products Viiradium made. However, she remembered that executives of one company often participated as board members of others. She was hopeful that it would be safe to do business with them, but after getting burned by the cops, there was no one she could really trust... except Chris. She just had to find him. She had to know what happened, why has he not contacted her. Of course! She has been staying out of contact. She purposely was staying out of sight to remain alive. Was he free? Was he being held in some way? There obviously was no way that he could contact her, so she had to pursue any lead she could to make progress toward discovering where he was. Was he waiting for some sort of rescue?

She didn't want to ditch the car in case she really needed it, but the police would be on the watch for it now. It would be dangerous to drive it. Why not have 'Annette' and her people come here? This seemed like a great place. A place where there was a crowd would surely be safer, wouldn't it? At least they always said so in the movies. She picked up her bag and left the computer area of the library to sort of wander around in search of a place to set up a meeting. The library itself? No. too much discussion was needed and it would not be a good place to speak out loud. A Cafeteria? Too much background noise. One of those student study lounges would be OK except there was no guarantee of privacy. There was the usual businesses that fed off the campus population: pizza and sub shops, bookstores, cheap restaurants and such. Perhaps a restaurant would be good. There was even some small casual snack bars on campus.

She had to think about how she would determine the safety of such a meeting. She wanted to observe their arrival and take note of any potential suspicious activity so she would have to scout around and choose the best place for them to meet with her. This whole espionage business made her feel like a spy or something. She knew now that she would never want to be a spy, it was exciting, but exiting in the way that discovering your parachute won't open is exciting.

Eventually she found the perfect spot, one of those little gourmet coffee kiosks on wheels that only serve cups of coffee that are above three dollars. Oh, but they didn't really call it "coffee", rather phrases like "espresso mocha", "cappuccino lift", "Americana delight" and such. It was in a spacious hallway with a little cluster of upholstered seating nearby that nobody used much. It was fairly busy but most people didn't have time to just stand around in an atrium and drink their hot brews – they would stop get their cup and go. The lounge area seemed perfect. Traffic, but at a bit of a distance. Plus she could get a cup and nurse it quite a while as she watched who came and went well before the time of the actual appointment.

She felt ready to call. There was a payphone nearby, so she drew out the crumpled message from her purse and dialed the number. After receiving a receptionist, she asked for Annette Armitage. When she was asked who was calling, Mara was caught a little off guard. She didn't plan the call very well and never stopped to think that they would ask her for a name. After a moment's pause, she replied, "It's Anne... Smith... Please tell her it's urgent."

She knew it sounded lame, but she was not about to give out her real name after all that's happened. After a few seconds of music, she was greeted with, "Hello, this is Annette..."

"Hello Annette, we haven't talked before, but I sent your company an e-mail message a day ago and I received a response with your name and number. It is very important that we discuss this and I do not intend to discuss it over the phone." She thought she sounded a bit demanding, and her words sort of came out in a blur, but she wanted to make sure this was pursued.

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Anne Smith."

"And what was the details of your mail message?"

"The details have to do with the loss or theft of... 'protected' information. I cannot say anything more over the phone. We must meet. What I have to tell you will be worth your time and effort."

Annette was intrigued by this conversation. The girl sounded young and even... scared? A little desperate perhaps. Was this whole thing simply a prank? If it had not been for the fact that they were investigating the security of their own data because of sensitive information and details were seemingly used against them somehow, she would simply have dismissed this whole thing. Plus Mike was pretty interested in tracking down this lead, so why not go the next step? Annette responded, "When can we get together?"

"The sooner the better. I was hoping today."

"Do you know where we are located?"

"I know this is putting you out, but you must come to meet me. It sounds ridiculous, but a lot has happened and I do not feel comfortable just bringing this in. I know you will have a bit of a drive, but you must come here, to MIT. Believe me, you won't be disappointed!"

MIT? That was a surprise? Why MIT? Annette wondered. This sounded intriguing indeed. It may have been a bit cliché but interesting nonetheless. She gave it a moment's consideration and wondered how Mike would respond. Should they just pack the van and go? She hoped he wouldn't be upset, but he was the one that said to follow this lead. "We can be there in about... two hours."

Mara couldn't contain her sigh of relief. "Great!" was the only response she could make. Then Mara briefly described the location of the building and the coffee kiosk and got a simple description of Annette – youngish, slim build, medium length wavy to the point of almost curly blond hair. Annette also said she would likely be bringing another gentleman along, Mike Ludwick, who was interested as well.

After hanging up, she had a couple of hours to kill. She wanted to make notes of all that had happened, especially with regard to the particulars of how the supposedly securely encrypted data was being "stolen". Professor Tattinger's description had been a good one because he simplified the problem with his description of the "magic" boxes and colored keys and such. She hoped she could do as good a job explaining the details to them.
Chapter 24

Dell and Randy took a good look around the scene. The chain lock was apparently broken with some feeble attempt to make it look useable, at least a first glance, to deter attention away from any belief of foul play. The evidence gathering didn't reveal anything out of the ordinary. They got some good prints, from their spacing apparently female. And who knew how well these places were cleaned. Prints generally became unusable after a month or so, but in the days preceding Mara's rental of the room, they would have to investigate who else may have stayed here. The same with gathering hair and skin remains for DNA identification.

The room didn't look right. Dell had seen enough crime scenes to know when things were deliberately 'put back'. This definitely had that look. The broken lock probably indicated a forced entry. She would have opened the door enough to look out and WHAM! The intruder could easily have splintered the wood anchoring the base of the lock. Then he imagined a struggle where she would be overpowered and subdued. The good thing was, no apparent blood at the scene. There were a couple of minor stains which could have been recent, or perhaps not so recent. But if she had been knifed or shot or something, there would be a lot of evidence.

The fact that the little car was missing was perplexing. Could it be that she wasn't keeping it here? Could the intruder have used it to get away? Sure. If he wanted it to seem like she had packed up and left, that's exactly what he would do. He ordered the tags on all the cars in the lot and all those parked on nearby streets within walking distance checked. Perhaps he came in one car and then left in hers. If that were the case, that would be a good lead if he were dumb enough to leave a stolen car behind. He would likely come back to retrieve it, but it had to be checked anyway. If it were found, the car would hopefully be able to supply more evidence.

Eventually, it was the forensics that revealed the story. Sure enough, one of the cars parked nearby in the street was stolen. The guy had been dumb enough to leave it (or unable to retrieve it). The forensic investigators were able to match both hair as well as garment fibers from the stolen car with some of those found in Mara's room. The area from which the car was stolen from was not far from the Russell Field Tee station where an incident occurred the other day between a transit authority cop and a Hispanic looking smallish man who had assaulted the officer with surprising skill and apparently made his escape on foot down the tracks. The car he left behind was stolen and indeed matching forensic evidence was found there as well.

Now they had a description of the guy and a sketch made up. Good work for such a short period of time. The sketch and the description of Dell's sports car were broadcast to local the agencies. They held back involving anyone from state just yet.

With everyone searching for the bad guy, for Mara and for the car, Dell hoped that something good would turn up. However, he couldn't help feeling near panic at the thought of the almost assured fact that Mara was likely beyond hope. Being a police officer for a few years meant you learned to emotionally distance yourself from most of the victims. You had to. If you didn't, you suffered along with them. How long could you live like that? So you learned to be a little bit hard. A little detached. It was the only way you could do your job.

But right now, that was difficult. He would continue to work the case, but he couldn't stop the feeling of being eaten from the inside out. Why hadn't he seen the danger before! He should never have left her on her own! He knew he had to stop these proverbial 'if only's' or he would suffer a breakdown. He had to stay focused on the task at hand – that of finding out who was behind this. They would probably find the person who was responsible for actually committing the crime against Mara, but he wanted the ones pulling the strings. This guy was probably just another hired puppet.

At this point the answer lay back somewhere inside Viiradium. He knew he was supposed to lay low and not raise any suspicions with them to keep them from putting pressure on the department through political channels to back off. Going through phone records, visitor logs and security camera tapes would be tedious and would likely yield some type of leads, however minimal they might be. But, Viiradium was not simply going to hand them over. He had to be careful going about this.

If he went as the "police" he wondered how far he would make it before word made it to those involved that the police were investigating in spite of their efforts to derail them. If he went as himself, any clue he found might not be able to be used as evidence to incriminate them later. He debated the point a while and, in the end, decided to not go as the police. If he did find anything there, he could always take note and return later if need be.

As he pulled into the lot, he knew what he was doing was a bit reckless, but he could not simply sit and wait until the car, or worse, Mara's body, showed up. He had to do something. He noted the vacant security guard station as he drove along the drive that ended at the employee lot. He parked his car some distance from the employee entrance and casually walked over to the guard booth. There was one of those railroad arm style barriers to prevent people from entering the facility without checking in, but apparently was not used during normal business hours since it was simply in the "up" position allowing people to come and go freely. At first it seemed somewhat strange, but then he considered what he would do if he were to break in. The employee entrance was locked and only opened to a valid security card holder. Plus there were cameras mounted above the lot and he realized he was likely under surveillance right now. Although it was more likely that the video recorders were simply recording the camera views and the guard inside the main building probably paid little attention to the monitors.

He walked casually back toward the main entrance. As he approached, an employee was just about to enter by using his security card. Would he be able to just breeze right through behind the employee? As he drew closer, the employee even held the door for him probably realizing what a needless pain using the security card reader was. He sort of grunted a greeting and thanks to the employee for his hospitality. This was pretty funny to Dell. Having someone hold the door for you when you had no business being there! But it was probably pretty typical of most businesses especially those large enough to have so many employees that you wouldn't recognize all of the people that work there.

Once inside, he maintained his casual appearance and eventually found the security guard station. It was attached just around the corner from the main reception area. From the standpoint of a visitor using the front door, the guard station was out of site. Entering through the employee entrance meant coming in from behind and it was easier to spot. He entered the cramped room and found a middle aged woman sitting among a row of four monitors and an impressive looking telephone console. She was wearing a headset and the phone seemed to be in constant use. It would give a single low chime and an indicator would begin flashing to mean that an incoming call was being made. He stood for a moment and listened to the woman field calls. She seemed pretty robotic, "Good Morning, Viiradium, How may I direct your call?..." Then after a push of a button, she would say "Thank you..." and start over. He realized the pretty receptionist out front was there to simply deal with clients that made visits in person and that the phone calls were handled right here by the telephone receptionist behind the scenes.

After a moment, the phone become silent and she noticed him there. She politely asked, "May I help you?"

"Oh, yes." Dell began. "That seems like it keeps you pretty busy." He motioned toward the large phone key set.

"It's not so bad really, years ago before there was the automated attendant and voicemail, it would never stop!"

He noticed her name was Jean Dunnhill from the name plaque on the counter. "So you must be the 'Jean' I hear occasionally when you forward calls to me. I work in the HR department up on the fourth floor," He lied.

"Yep, that would be me... Oh, excuse me! Good Morning Viiradium, How may I direct your call?" Button click sound. "Thank You..." Click. "Sorry about that. Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes, I didn't mean to interrupt or anything. It seems like we have a little dispute with an employee's claim to hours worked. I wonder if you know where the log book for the security guard booth out in the employee parking entrance might be. I just want to verify that he came in when he claims to have."

Without a moment's hesitation she slid her keyboard near and started tapping keys. She was working the mouse while occasionally glancing at the row of video monitors. At the same time, there was a low chime and Jean continued right on fielding calls. On her computer monitor appeared what looked like scanned images of logbook time entries. Dell look on as she scrolled through the pages of the log. They eventually arrived at the log of the previous Tuesday and noticed that Chris Chandler did indeed sign in that night. However, nowhere did he sign out. So, did that mean he was kidnapped right here on the job or was the security guard lax in filling in the log as Chris left. It looked like the 'time out' field on most entries of the form were typically filled in by the person who signed in. That meant that it must be policy to sign out yourself when you leave and not let the guard sign for you. After signing out, the guard would probably push the button to lift the parking lot barrier so the exiting employee could drive through.

Dell didn't find anything else noticeable in the log, but knowing that the kidnapping likely took place right here was noteworthy. Not exactly evidence, but perhaps useful. Security surveillance recordings might show more. However, if there was foul play and Viiradium was responsible, they would likely have made sure any recorded crime was quickly erased.

Jean turned to look at him and offered the suggestion, "Why not just look at the badge logs?"

He started to say, "Badge Logs?" when it dawned on him that she meant the logs of when the security badges were swiped to gain access to the building or areas within the building. He replied, "I looked into it. Too many opportunities for someone to 'tailgate' through a door by following the person ahead of him." He was thinking of his own experience moments ago that he used to gain access to the site himself. "Thanks, Jean. This helps. We will settle up with the guy ourselves."
Chapter 25

Damian could do nothing but pace. For someone supposedly in charge of an operation like this, he noticed that the pressure was starting to take its toll on him. First, he would have to tell Red what was happening. He dreaded this more than the actual problems themselves. Red was going to react in ways Damian couldn't even imagine. How did he end up in this situation? He always worried from the start that the whole conception of ultimate data control would end up going off tracks somehow. It would obviously be illegal. But it would be difficult to prove any wrongdoing had occurred. The money was certainly great and the lure of riches ended up a snare that outweighed any risk.

Now here he was, trying to figure out if there was some way to end the entire affair gracefully. Just pull the plug and get rid of any evidence. It would be hard because there was a lot of evidence to get rid of. Or would it be? It was, after all, only a bunch of little digital bits of evidence scattered across the inner workings of various computers and network gear. Couldn't it all just be erased? Just erase your troubles with a push of a button?

Perhaps there was still hope. Perhaps he could salvage the operation. He reminded himself again that it was, after all, only one girl.

The conference room phone chimed and his secretary announced the arrival of his anticipated guest. Red was shown into the room and the two men stood face to face without a word between them for a brief moment. It became uncomfortable to Damian who finally turned and offered a seat to his guest. Red ignored the offer.

"What the hell is going on!" Red demanded. "I don't even want to be seen here at a time like this!"

By that, Damian supposed he meant at a time that might make poor Red look bad. But that was tough. Time for him to face reality.

"As you know, the attempt to silence our little problem has failed."

"Our little problem? You knew your position in this before it all started. Before the little problem became a big problem. You knew the risks with an operation as radical as this, you knew the rewards and chose to ignore the risks. Decided that the rewards outweigh the risks. So don't think that this little problem is our little problem. Remember, I have no official ties to this operation and at this point, and I am going to have to put even more distance between us now."

This attitude of Red's was really pissing him off. Who did he think he was? Sure, there was nothing official to link Red to I-Data, but this whole operation was Red's idea. Now all of the sudden he wants to wash his hands of it? Damian knew better than to try to dispute the facts with Red, it would be a contest Red would surely win. Instead, Damian looked meek. After a pause, he replied, "Since you're here, you might as well know what's going on."

"Yes, I might as well..."

"As you already know, the professional we hired was unable to meet our goals and has been... compromised. The police even have a sketch."

"You mean the police have the girl, Again?"

"No, the moron had some sort of an episode with a parking cop at a subway station and ended up leaving a stolen car and escaping on foot. The parking officer supplied the description. No, the girl is indeed... missing."

"So what are you doing about it? Waiting 'til she shows up at the police and spills her guts? That will be great! As much as I don't want to get caught in the middle, the operation is still very important to me. To all of us."

Both men were silent for a moment as each contemplated the situation. Finally, Red asked, "How bad will it be if the cops catch her?"

"I fully debriefed Enrique, the guy we hired to do the job. He doesn't usually take payment until the job is done, but we gave him an advance anyway. We wanted him to be motivated. He gave it back. At the time, it seemed unimportant to him, but during their brief conversation, she was asking him a lot of questions. Most of which he really had no answers for, but two important facts resulted. First, she believes her brother is still alive. Second, She has a pretty good idea of what's going on. She mentioned the 'Tomb'. However, she's barking up the wrong company. She knows nothing about I-Data. At least not that I could tell from talking to Enrique."

"So if the police do catch up with her, what's their course of action? Obviously they might try to investigate Viiradium. That could be difficult if the Justice department was called in on behalf of them to protect secrets associated with government contracts from being publicly exposed. I would certainly slow them down."

"Yeah, well wait, it gets worse."

Red shot a concerned glance. Damian continued, "As you know, we are being funded very well by our paying customers who have us collect and decrypt network traffic to and from their target competitors. All data, regardless of whether is actually is encrypted or not is captured, analyzed, indexed, sorted and filtered to be supplied to the paying customer."

"I know how the operation works, I don't need to hear a reminder."

"Well, it seems one of the organizations we are being paid to monitor received a very interesting anonymous e-mail. We traced the source of the e-mail easily back to the originating organization. It's a very large free e-mail provider that many people used. There is no way to tell where the originating person sat when they sent the message without gaining access to the e-mail system's log files."

"So what's the problem? E-mail to one of our targets. They get a lot of e-mail, why does it concern us?"

"Because... Here are copies of the mail conversation." Damian handed over the several messages. The first was Mara's inquiry to several of the target sites. Red recognized some of the organizations from the e-mail addresses she used. She knew something was up and she was fishing. Even more disturbing was the fact that one of the inquiries produced a response from Sequitus Technologies.

Red was trying hard not to come unglued. This was beginning to unravel. What turned out to be a snowball was inevitably turning into an eventual avalanche.

Damian went on, "I have a proposition. We at least have her e-mail address from this transcript. Why don't we submit an enticing response to her and see if we can simply lure her in?"

"She could be meeting with them right now for all we know. Anyplace in the country. Perhaps they've had a nice juicy telephone conversation already. Is she really going to be interested now?"

"Let's use the brother..."
Chapter 26

Mara returned to the lobby area and sat in one of the low, soft lounge chairs. She thought about getting some of the delicious smelling coffee, but her stomach was strongly hinting that it would be a bad idea. Fresh gourmet coffee and high anxiety made for a bad combination. From her position, she had a clear view in all directions. Behind her was a large section of glass that offered a view out into the adjacent square. She thought she could blend in with the scenery to a large degree, however, she still had a nasty looking bruise on her face from her encounter with the bathroom door at the morgue.

She could easily see straight down the narrowing hallway in front of her. To her left was an expansive lobby that led out to an adjacent building across the wide student crossing. She was still carrying around her entire life's worth of belongings since she really had no place to stay. At least until she could someday safely get back to her apartment – if she ended up surviving at all. She had her purse, a whole bunch of notes, a light bag with a few of her clothes and such and her jacket which she still wore to ward of the anxious chill.

She sat collecting her thoughts and her notes while she waited for her "guests" to arrive. She could feel the butterflies of mild anticipation while she waited. She did not trust them, but she had no choice. Somehow, this had to end and the only way was to do something about it herself.

She knew to expect the woman she talked to on the phone. She tried to picture her in her mind. She sounded young on the phone, but you never knew. It was funny how different people actually looked from the imagined demeanor you often created in your mind after only hearing someone, but never actually meeting them. She said she wanted to bring someone else along, her boss? Mara didn't like the idea, but she was in no position to protest.

Waiting like this was quite a struggle. It was difficult to be at ease with her mind racing over the events of the last days. She still had not had a period of time to properly grieve the loss of her mother. How odd it was, she thought to herself, how the passage of time seemed to crawl when you were forced to do nothing but wait. It reminded her with a shudder of the frantic moments she spent locked in an utterly dark box with no chance for escape. She had the notion that she would likely be permanently claustrophobic after that ordeal.

There were a considerable number of people around her, but none seemed to notice her as she sat as any other student would with a few notes in front of her. Some paused to chat as they stood enjoying a cup of coffee. Others scurried this way and that, no doubt immersed in thought of the next class they had to get to or some important project that needed their urgent attention. It reminded her a lot of her own days in college. It also reminded her of her mother's conviction to provide good education for both of her children in spite of their relatively limited family resources. Here she was agonizing over the loss of her mother again. She had to overcome this if she was going to be able to continue. Where were they?

From the student crossing she saw a possible candidate approaching. What tipped her off was the fact that the girl (who looked nothing at all like what she had imagined) was apparently with a man who was older that her. Could be a student and teacher walking along discussing course material, but that was rare. Mara pretended to be studying her notes as they made their way into the lobby and paused for a moment to get their bearings. When they spotted the coffee kiosk, they approached. Both were carrying bags, the middle aged man with slightly graying hair had a leather satchel you often associated with small computer carrying bags. The girl had what simply looked like an oversized purse.

They walked up to the counter an apparently began discussing the selection of coffee. She could only hear bits of their conversation, but they placed orders and waited for their gourmet delight as the machine ground out some fresh concoction, no doubt with cocoa or cinnamon or some other exotic flavor. After receiving their cups they pondered the landscape a bit. They noticed her sitting there and Mara continued to pretend to be deep in study. They shuffled around a bit, drinking from the little holes in the lids of their cups and eventually sat nearby.

Mara tried to survey all of the other people who came and went looking for any signs of surveillance. It was a little comforting to be meeting with a woman who was not all that much different from her. She seemed only a little older. Perhaps a little bigger, but then most people were a little bigger than Mara. She looked a little... dumpy? Like someone who didn't care all that much about just how they looked. Not fat, but out of shape for someone so young. Her hair needed a stylist to give it some attention and she could wear some makeup. Then it suddenly dawned on Mara that she herself probably looked worse. Her hair was trimmed and bleached as a disguise, but not very well cared for and out of necessity, she wore no makeup either.

She decided that these two looked safe enough. The man was a little harder to read. He was average looking in almost every way, medium height, brown hair that was softly graying, glasses that shaded his eyes enough that she couldn't make out a color without staring.

She gathered her nerve and looked up from her notes at them. "Annette?"

"Yes!" replied the woman as she stood up.

"Please, don't bother getting up. It might seem ridiculously paranoid, but if you've been through what I've been through the past few days, you would be wary too."

No doubt they both understood after noticing the bruises on her face.

The man cleared his throat and began, "I'm Mike Ludwik and, as you know, this is Annette. We received your message and are pretty concerned. Our first concern is that this seems unlikely to be a legitimate insinuation that you've made. I don't mean to make it ssound that we don't trust you or anything, but we don't even know you and then to make this request to meet... here."

Mara began to get a little scared. All along she was looking at things from her perspective and never gave thought to what they must think. Putting herself in their place, it's really surprising that they would even bother to show up at all.

She tried to ally their concerns, "I can completely understand what you mean. But I think after I'm through you will appreciate the sacrifice you've made to come here to meet me."

"Well, the only reason we are here is simply to follow up on our own problems. You mention theft of secure, encrypted data and we believe that we've been victims, but don't know how."

"Let me tell you my story and I think I can explain how and perhaps even who..."

Mike Ludwik suddenly zeroed on Mara with laser focus in anticipation of the promised answers. Mara began to relate her experience, beginning with her real name and then the disappearance of her brother from where they both worked – Viiradium.

Annette interrupted, "We use products from Viiradium for our network traffic and security control." Both Mike and Mara looked at her and she stopped to let Mara continue.

Mara described the attacks and attempted kidnapping, the harrowing escape from her mother's and the sadness of her death. She became slightly agitated as she related the fact that she was hunted by both the cops and whoever was trying to kill her. She paused a moment to glance around to be sure no one was watching them or was surreptitiously eavesdropping on their conversation.

She continued with the eventual help she had gotten from the police only to be betrayed by the one cop she trusted and then her nightmare with Enrique at the morgue, only she didn't know his name was really Enrique.

"Now, I'm sure you are probably wondering, why are people trying to kill me and why have I contacted you!" She went back to describe the discovered message from Chris about the 'Tomb' and it's discovery, then the unearthing of the drawing at Chris' that showed details of some of the victims – including Sequitus – as well as the odd diagram. How she investigated the meaning of this and eventually ended up with the old math professor who knew exactly what it was, that it wasn't an archaeological discovery, but a mathematical discovery and described in detail how such a discovery could have a dramatic impact on the world of information exchange.

Then in desperation, she sent e-mail messages to several companies hoping she would turn up something since she could not go to the authorities without endangering herself. If she ended up in jail (or dead), the people responsible would then be allowed to continue with their dirty little tricks.

Finally, she spent some time describing the mathematical process using the illustration of the magic boxes that Professor Tattinger taught her, although she was sure her version lacked the exciting color of his.

When she finished the whole story, they sat back and looked at each other. Were they wondering whether to believe this outrageous story? Would they take her seriously? Could they believe she was spinning an elaborate fabrication? Like a spider, only a web of lies? People have died over this thing, so obviously something 'real' was going on here. There was apparent theft of data occurring right at Sequitus, so there indeed could be truth to this story.

Mara continued, "Right now, the only problem I have is proving that this is happening and that finding out exactly who is responsible. And to me, that's a big problem because I don't know where to start!"

Mike and Annette decided to take her seriously. Mike asked, "What about simply using stronger encryption to make it even more difficult and eventually impossible to decode the data?"

"You don't understand," replied Annette. "The number of bits used in the encryption key determines the difficulty of cracking the code. Right now, 128 bits is considered theoretically impossible to decode. Without the key, there's no way currently to determine the original message. What she's talking about is not the key but the method used as the key exchange. Because the other party who you are sending the message to has to be able to decrypt the information, there has to be some way to exchange what the key is.

"To do that, this mathematical method of using related key pairs was devised. What Mara is saying is that someone has discovered a mathematical way to exploit the relationship between the keys. In other words, since one of the keys is distributed freely, anyone has easy access to it. But, until now, it has been mathematically impossible to perform a prime number factorization operation against the public key to determine the private one. But apparently someone has discovered a way to do this. With the knowledge of the private key, someone could examine the key exchange part of the transaction. This is the key that both ends of the electronic conversation agree to use to encrypt and decrypt the information. Since another party was able to determine what the key to be used actually was, that same someone could record the electronic transaction as it occurred, determine the encryption key selected during the key exchange using the 'Tomb' and decrypt the entire electronic conversation between the two computers."

"But how would someone be able to record such a conversation? Aren't the data connections between companies considered private?" Mara asked.

"Yes, they are considered private from a legal standpoint, but messages from one company to another go through many telecom circuits and probably several phone companies or telecom providers on their way through the internet to the destination. It is not too hard to monitor traffic, especially if you knew the electronic addresses of both parties and that's pretty much public information. And if a company like Viiradium is involved in this key compromise effort, it would be easy for them to build network traffic routing products with a secret, built-in 'agent' to collect and then redirect any traffic you collected to any destination in the world. In fact we do it all the time to monitor our data flow from a diagnostic standpoint." Annette replied.

"So you think Viiradium is involved to the point of making equipment and selling it with this illegal capability?"

"The collection and forwarding of data traffic is not really illegal. First, the equipment already has this capability and its purpose is really just a 'feature' to enable the network administrators to better control data flow in a complex network. To exploit this built in 'feature' would only take a little bit of computer code implanted into the equipment. It wouldn't be a surprise if there was some sort of a special diagnostic password known only to the manufacturer so that they could activate this code and turn something completely legitimate into something dangerously illegal."

After a moment reflection, Mara piped in, "That means proving their involvement is going to be next to impossible if it depends on discovering something that is already supposed to be there."

Mike added, "We're not so sure it's Viiradium that's the culprit here. We've been doing some investigating on our own and we think we might be able to help. Have you ever heard of an outfit called 'I-Data'?"

Mara looked puzzled. "No, not that I can think of, Why?"

Mike looked disappointed. "I was hoping that in all of your research, you might have uncovered a trail that lead in their direction. We believe that a company or some adversarial organization could purchase private data about a competitor, or 'opponent' without their consent or knowledge. We just had no idea how they were getting the data.

"Our small company was formed after the discovery of a significant scientific breakthrough called the 'Pico Timer'. We have some initial patents pending for the discovery, but there are other companies racing to produce products that take advantage of this new technology and that competition is fierce and even cutthroat. There are big government contracts at stake that are worth, potentially, billions of dollars. Not to mention application of the new technology in all sorts of consumer electronics.

"We feel that our competition has made use of or hired these people to electronically 'spy' on us to keep the upper advantage. From what you have told us, this seems more likely than ever."

Annette chimed in, "If what Mara is saying is true, corporate spying is the least of our worries. This same technique of private data exchange has become almost universal. Manufacturers of electronic equipment have embedded this encryption technology it in lots of things to make it completely transparent and convenient to the user to send private data. If the mathematical details of the discovery of the 'Tomb' were made public, it would end private data exchange all over the world until someone could discover an alternate method. Some methods already exist, but the technique of using relative prime factors is the clear favorite because until now, it was the easiest to use and most difficult to break. Governments would not be safe from their enemies, the police could understand messages between criminal organizations and worse yet, criminals could understand the private police data traffic. The world would be a mess for a while."

Mike replied, "Well there is nothing much we can do about that. For now, we have our own problems and Mara here is in a sinking boat. We need to bail her out of this and I think we can do it by solving our own problems."

"What are you thinking?" Annette asked.

"We have contacts at the National Security Agency because of our work with the Pico Timer and application of the technology in the surveillance field. If they knew about this, there is no way they would be kept quiet by some corporate entity, I don't care who the company is. At least I don't think they would anyway. We just need to gather a bit of evidence and present it to the guys at the NSA. When they hear Mara's story and compare that with the evidence we prepare, they'll scramble to put an end to this including Mara's troubles."

How do you plan on gathering this so called 'evidence'?" Annette asked.

Mike smiled and simply said, "Why not use our own stuff?"

"You mean the Pico Timer?"

"That's exactly what I mean!"

Mara interrupted, "I'm not following along with you..."

"Where are you staying, Mara?" Mike asked. Mara was reluctant to say anything as the fear alarm went off in her head. Could she really trust the two of them? She had been burned before and nearly died for it. No, not again.

"I'm afraid I can't say. I don't mean to be rude, but being careful has somehow kept me alive."

"Would you be willing to come back to Sequitus Tech with us? I know it's asking a lot after what you have been through, but this time it's one victim to another. I think you would be safer with us than staying... here," he said as he looked around the premise drawing the conclusion that she was living homeless blending in with the campus students.

Mara momentarily flushed with embarrassment and reconsidered the offer. If she did go with them she could avoid the risk of driving the car out to their company. A car that stuck out like a sore thumb and would no doubt be on every cop's APB. It boiled down to a simple matter of whether she felt comfortable enough to go with them. Her intuition told her that she had to trust them. What else could she do? Weren't they victims that she solicited? After a long pause, she finally simply said, "OK."

*

On the drive over to the Sequitus facility, Mara sat silently in the back of the van. She was hoping she made the right choice. They both seemed non-threatening. It was Annette that made her feel most comfortable. It seemed so utterly unlikely that she could in any way be linked to those running the subversive operation. Mike broke through her distant reverie by asking, "So we can't just go to the local cops with this, eh?" Her head swam with a million reasons why not to go to the cops.

"Well, for one thing, I'm still a suspect in my mother's murder," she said bitterly. "Then the last time I trusted the cops, it almost got me killed. The one investigator that I did trust told me quite frankly that the police received direct orders via political pressure to back off this case. And there was the other incident some months back where another scientist disappeared from Viiradium and the police dropped that case as well."

She thought about Dell after bringing him up in the conversation and felt confused, baffled in fact. Why? Why did he set her up? Here she thought she was actually falling for the guy and as soon as he finds out where she's staying, he doesn't waste any time. She's viciously attacked and another attempt made to kill her. Could it be that the Spanish or Puerto Rican (or whatever he was) assassin was lying to her? Why would he do that? He had every intention of killing her, so why lie if he thought she would be dead shortly anyway? What a combination, she felt both heartbroken and betrayed at the same time, by the same guy!

Mike was about to ask her about some of the people who might be involved at Viiradium, but stopped himself short when he caught a glimpse of her in the rear view mirror and saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. Instead, he just said, "We should be there in about 5 or 10 minutes."

They pulled into the lot of an older but very well kept building. Mara hadn't really been paying attention to where they were driving, but she thought they were somewhere along the I128 technology corridor. Perhaps Burlington? Not too far from Bedford.

She was shown into Mike's office and treated like a special guest. She really appreciated their kindness. Annette showed her where there was a shower across the hall from the company exercise room. They didn't have much for a cafeteria, more of a kitchen really, but they offered to include her in a take-out order of Chinese food for a late lunch and as a setting for which to discuss plans over.

She accepted their hospitality and quickly showered and put her clothes back on. She actually felt refreshed and for the first time in a while, relatively safe. By the time they sat down to lunch it was midafternoon and the three of them staked small claims to a portion of Mike's desk to eat at – shoving any papers and such out of the way. The food smelled great and she was starving.

There was not much talking during the meal, but as Mike finished up, he announced, "It's time we planned what to do next."

Annette began, "Well, we don't have too much more on I-Data, but working with Viiradium equipment and filling in details with information that Mara has supplied, now it's beginning to make a lot more sense. I can see how a software 'agent' unknowingly installed in the firmware on any of Viiradium's data handling equipment could forward any type of traffic to some location anywhere in the internet. Then the information, if it were encrypted, could be decoded by this 'tomb' discovery. All information could then be stored in a large data warehouse for sorting, organizing and reporting. The finished product is an individual and unique information package of all sorts of secret information on your competitors. To some people that package could be worth millions and they probably produce a lot of these 'packages', so there's probably a lot of millions of dollars involved in the whole scheme!"

Mara sad, "It's incredible... No wonder they wanted to be sure I stayed silent. Poor Chris just discovered what they were doing somehow and they found out about it. They had to keep him quiet and be sure that I didn't say anything in case he talked to his big sister who worked at the same company."

"Mara, we believe that a company called I-Data is key to this whole thing," Mike continued. "We discovered that they are the source of some of the information that should never have been made available. We originally thought that they must be using more conventional means like stealing the garbage from the dumpsters outside or even planting bugging devices or phone taps to spy on behalf of their customers. But with what you have told us, that puts the issue in a much different light. I think you are right, Annette, there's lots of money at stake here and it's much bigger than we had originally thought. I don't know how a potential customer of I-Data finds out about their services or how they market themselves knowing they are involved in illegal activity."

Annette replied, "It may not be all that difficult. First of all, data transmitted across public networks, especially the internet is always open to the dangers of theft. But is it really theft if you send it over a public connection? I'm sure that's an interesting legal debate. But no matter, because everyone knows there is danger, so they take steps to protect themselves by encrypting the data and then sending it. However, it's still the same public network and I'm sure their lawyers are well prepared to argue any of these points in court.

"Besides, there are all sorts of companies out there that will do discreet background checks just like the one we used to investigate I-Data. Most of these are legitimate and I-Data probably markets and promotes itself as a legitimate information services company. Perhaps they even promote themselves has high tech private eyes."

Mike answered, "I'm sure our friends at the US Government, especially Justice and Commerce or the National Security Agency would not view the actions of I-Data as 'legitimate'." Then he looked at Mara and added, "Especially when you throw in murder, assault and kidnapping."

Mara said, "What do we know about I-Data? I remember the sketch I found at my brother's made reference to it..." She began to rummage through her bag. "Here it is. See. It just never occurred that it was another company. I'm glad I didn't send them an e-mail like I sent you. I could have been baiting wolves." She pushed the sketch across the desk towards Mike.

Mike shared a look at the drawing with Annette and after a moment said, "Wow, this is very close to the way you just described it Annette! Looks like the data is copied by various data points, sort of like distributed 'listening posts' during the transmission and redirected here." He indicated the box that said 'I-Data'. "Then the information goes through the 'Tomb' to be decoded and ends up with the customer, that is, the competition or enemy."

After studying the sketch for a few more moments, Annette went on, "What we do know about I-Data is not that much. We know they are based here in the Boston Metro area. We have the regular public figures of worth, revenue and such as reported to the government, but they are not a public company, so there is no shareholder information. Even the financial data we do have is very limited since they have not even been in business for a whole year yet. We have the names of the members of the top leadership and just a general description of what they claim to be, a 'Statistical Information Clearinghouse', whatever that's supposed to mean."

"What we need is proof!" cried Mara. "I'm sick of fighting a giant that I have no chance of beating. Even the police are on their side. Obviously Viiradium is involved, but who at Viiradium?"

No one spoke for a few moments while Mara played with the last remains of her tin foil dish of take-out Chinese. Finally, Mike said, "I have an idea but it's going to be risky. Don't laugh at me when I say this.

"First, Sequitus Tech is, at this point, a band of designers and engineers with some great ideas working together to produce some revolutionary technology. We don't have a whole lot of money simply because we have not marketed any products yet and we are using investor funds to pay the bills right now. Launching a big expensive investigation is going to cost us and likely will not produce the results we really need, but instead just tip off the adversary. Just as Mara is being physically hunted down and is suffering abuse, this company is being systematically hunted and destroyed by the fierce competition at that hands of I-Data. We need to act quickly to defend ourselves and get Mara out of the woods while we are doing it."

"What do you propose?" Annette asked.

"Well, we know the top executives at I-Data. They must know exactly what's going on and are, in fact, likely the ones guilty of setting up the operation. Why not use the spyglass-project to monitor those executives and gather evidence to feed to our people at the US government?"

Annette faced him directly and gave him a long look. "The spyglass project? It's never been used in the field. Would it work? Who is going to run it? How are we going to spy on several people at once? Isn't the 'evidence' we gather simply hearsay?"

"Slow down a minute, Annette! The spyglass project has been lab tested and had gone through a lot of simulations. I'll admit, it's a little unrefined, but there is no reason why it shouldn't work. As far as who is going to run it, I thought the three of us would be sufficient because I was going to go after the top executive at I-Data and I doubt we would have to go any further. The evidence we might gather wouldn't hold up in court, but it would be sufficient to convene a Grand Jury and that would blow the case wide open. I also think the Feds would put Mara in protective custody, especially as her testimony would put these people away."

Mara chimed in, "Excuse me, but what the hell are you all talking about? The 'Spyglass' project?"

Mike and Annette looked at each other a moment. Mike replied, "I mentioned before that we were working on the application of our discovery towards technology products that will revolutionize a lot of stuff. That's why there is sort of a race going on to see who can get products to market first and why there is this whole issue of going to any lengths to steal data from us. Since it's my company getting ripped off, I want to put an end to it if at all possible. I think we should go to the police, even though they may not be willing to assist, just as a formality to make the accusation known.

"At the same time, even if they do agree to help, it will take far too long and the bad guys would just get away. The spyglass project is one of those cool applications of our discoveries here. Basically what it does is give you the ability to literally 'see' through solid objects."

Mara asked, "You mean like x-rays?"

"Well, sort of. It's a bit more complicated than that. By using a pair of antennas spaced a little distance apart, we flood or 'spray' the target area with tiny bursts of radio energy. The Pico Timer enables us to precisely monitor the reflected return which is also picked up by an antenna receiver. Based on the exact timing of the reflections of the bits of radio energy, a powerful computer sorts out the received signals and generates both a 3-d appearing image and a simulated 'video' of what's happening behind closed doors or even through most building materials."

"How is this going to help us nail any of the bad guys?"

"We set up a pair of antennas near the location of say... the home of the chairman of I-Data to monitor the activities. While we're monitoring, you call him on the phone and make some threats about going to the authorities because you have 'proof' of their little scheme. Then we just sit back and record what happens."

"You mean you can listen as well as watch?"

"In most cases. Listening is actually a little harder. There needs to be a hard surface that will reflect the sounds being made in the room. Glass would work very well, except it doesn't reflect radio energy. A metal file cabinet works best. If we can't get good audio, a backup system we have works well. It uses a laser to pick up the sonic vibrations from the windows. The disadvantage is that the laser can be seen if the person being watched happens to look at the right place at the right time. The laser off the window thing is nothing new, it has been around a long time. We just synchronize it with the video to get a complete audio and video capture of what's happening inside."

"It sounds like it's going to be a big deal to set all this up. Is this something we can do without notice? I mean, setting up antennas as such would draw attention."

"Well, our eventual goal is to develop a one piece handheld unit – we all it the 'spyglass' – that someone like the police or the military could effectively use in the field. As it is today, the computer and antennas all fit into a couple of small duffel bags for transport and setup is pretty easy. The antennae are small and can easily be concealed. I planned on setting up and calling him right from his own backyard on a cell phone while we sat and watched and listened to the reaction inside. At least that was my idea anyway."

"Sounds kind of far-fetched to me," was all Mara could think of to say. It really did seem impossible. Was she teamed up with a bunch of science fiction crackpots? She felt a little disappointed after all of this discussion. She really thought that together, they could make some progress in the case. This idea of spying just didn't seem to her that it would force any changes, especially where she was concerned. She would like to come out of hiding and live a normal life, whatever was left of it.

However, at this point, she might as well go along with this scheme to see how far it goes. What else was she to do? Go back to living homeless at the university campus? That would only last so long.

*

By the end of the day, Mike felt they were ready. He had the van packed with the gear and batteries he thought they would need. They found the address of the person who was likely running the I-Data operation and felt that he would be the best person to begin the job with. By the time they were ready to set out, it was past six in the evening and the foreboding late November sky already was hauntingly dark with thick ghostly clouds moving rapidly from the southwest. The stiff breeze was damp and surprisingly warm for November.

Mara grabbed a few things from her makeshift purse – money, remaining credit card and keys and put them into the pockets of her light jacket. She found a comfortable position behind the driver seat and settled in for the drive. As they pulled out onto the street, Annette said, "Sure seems like it's going to rain... Do you think we'll have problems? The equipment is not weather tested and I sure hate to see it ruined."

"We'll need to take a look at the layout of this guy's house first. If we can get close enough without looking obvious, most of the stuff can probably be set up in the van. The transmitting antennas I'm not too worried about, the rest of the stuff will need to stay dry," Mike answered.

From the back seat, Mara asked, "Who is this guy anyway?"

"His name is Damian Sanders. Since the company is not public, there's not too much information that the investigators could turn up, just the normal legal paperwork that must be filed with the government, stuff like that. This guy seems to be the best candidate for knowing what is really going on at I-Data and who might be involved at Viiradium."

Mara sat back and considered this name for a while, but she wasn't familiar with it at all. Could this be the shadowy figure behind her torment of the last several days? Was she finally about to face the enemy? Was she merely a 'spot' to him? A stain to be 'cleaned' away? It must be so impersonal to him. But to her, it meant everything. Her family – wiped out. Her dignity, her trust, changed forever. In the back of her mind she wondered if it could really be this person, this 'Damian', that was behind it all. She was expecting someone she would recognize. A face to associate with all the trouble. Someone she could hate. That she could attack, even if the attack would only be in a courtroom – at least they would finally suffer what they deserved. No, they deserved worse, but there was little she could do about that. The revelation that the character behind her misery was someone unknown to her, left her a little deflated.

Mike's voice broke her from her contemplation, "We called this guy a little while ago and got a recorded voice mail message, so he probably is not home yet. I thought we would take a drive over and have a look at the landscape and then go for something to eat while we wait for him to show up. Hopefully he's not out of town on a business trip or something."

They made their way to an expensive country development in the north suburbs. There were winding lanes throughout the hilly terrain with magnificent upper class homes sort of tucked-in attractively throughout the development. Eventually they found the place they were looking for. There was some automated outdoor lighting and perhaps an inside hallway light that gave the place that 'no-one's-home-right-now' look. It happened to be at the very outskirts of the development with what was probably a nice view of farms and woods out the back, although it was difficult to tell for sure in the gathering darkness.

"We stick out like a sore thumb here..." Mike complained in frustration.

"Take a look over there, just past the house... there," Annette indicated. "It looks like the road winds around the end of the house a bit."

The road did indeed take a turn to the right and immediately crossed a small wooded brook that carried run-off water from the development out toward the farms. After cruising across the bridge, there was a scrap of a dirt track that went off the road to the right some more. They pulled in and Mike brought the van to a stop.

"Probably a path the farms used before that development went in. We could drive down it a bit. It looks to me like we can get close enough to set up the antenna array and hopefully not get noticed." After a moment's consideration, Mike said, "Hang on here just a minute guys." He got out of the van by himself and began walking down the path in the direction of the house.

In the awkward silence between Mara and Annette, Mara asked, "So do you work for Mike?"

"We work at the same company, but we work in different departments. We're a small enough group that we all sort of do a little bit of everything. Mike's main job is corporate security and I maintain and manage our computer networks. This time though, we are together since we're talking about computers and security."

"Is he a pretty good guy to work with?"

"I don't know too much about him, but he has a reputation for being a bit of a maverick. He has certainly fit in well at Sequitus. He gets along great with everyone and the group is sort of nonconformist anyway, so mavericks fit right in. I've heard he's regarded as being a tough guy, but I've never seen him act it."

After a few moments, Mike emerged from the gloom of the trail and climbed back into the van. "I don't know if the cables we brought will reach from the antenna placement to the van, but I think they will. Definitely looks like he's not home right now. Let's eat! That Chinese lunch is history and I'm getting hungry."

They drove back up to the street and left the neighborhood in search of a restaurant.

*

There was some discussion of what type of food everyone was interested in, but Mike seemed to be the only one that cared about eating, so they stopped at one of the popular chain restaurant franchises and got a table with no waiting. After they ordered, Mike began in a low voice, "It seems like it should be a piece of cake. The guy's place is fairly open in the back with good exposure to the field. The van can probably stay concealed among the trees alongside the path we parked on. Once we get everything set up, we can watch and listen to what's going on inside."

"So we watch the guy. Then what?" Mara asked.

"Once we feel we are getting good surveillance, I'll give him a call from my mobile phone. Actually, I was thinking, if you didn't mind, perhaps you could call him. If this guy really does have anything to do with what's happening to you, that should really stir things up."

Mara considered this for a moment. She certainly didn't want to expose herself any more than she had to, but if this individual really was somehow connected or responsible for the drama of the past couple of days, wouldn't it be great to be on the other end of the hook watching him being the one squirming like a worm. It did seem like a reasonable idea. "That sounds good. Did you have anything specific in mind that I might say?" Then she added mockingly, "Oh hello, you bastard, this is Mara Chandler, you know, the one you've been trying to kill? Guess what? It's my turn now! You better watch your stinking back!"

Mike smiled and replied, "Well I was thinking of something perhaps a little more subtle. Maybe you could indicate that you know him and that you know what he's up to and you are going to take him and his friends down."

"Friends?"

"We must assume that he is almost certainly not acting alone. By giving the indication we know who they are, he would hopefully be nervous enough to contact some of them. Hopefully he won't bolt, because we won't ever keep up with him with the van. We want to be there watching and listening and hopefully see something incriminating."

"What if we do discover something? We're not the police, and this is not a court ordered exercise, what would we be able to do about anything? "

"I've got some friends in the government that would be very interested in someone, especially someone trusted like Viiradium, that is involved in pirating private data off the net and using it to their profit. And, since even network traffic among government agencies is at risk, they will have even more motivation"

"So you are just going to turn over the recording or whatever the evidence is to the government? I know you want to get these guys off your back, but what about me? I can't even go to the cops. They still think I had something to do with the murder of my mother!"

"Everything will be recorded on one of these." He pulled a small, square flat object about an inch square from his pocket. "It's an everyday electronic media card, the ones they use in digital cameras to save photos and videos. I can make a backup copy in a few moments and send it off to my government contacts. Believe me, they are going to want to talk to you if we get any material that supports your story."

Mara didn't appreciate his hint that there was a possibility that what she had revealed to them was simply a "story". Something deamed up. Not entirely fact, but she respected the effort he was willing to put forth to at least check it out. It was a pretty unlikely story, so she should not be surprised there would be skepticism.

During the meal, not many words were exchanged. Mara was pretty wound up and found that eating was not the way to settle her stomach. Mike seemed to have no problem clearing his plate. Annette looked like the kind of person who lived off a small but continual supply of junk food. She ate most of her greasy burger and fries.

After thanking Mike for picking up the tab, they headed back to the van and drove back to the target's neighborhood. They came from the opposite direction this time and were able to approach the turnoff to the dirt track without passing the house.

Mike switched the lights to only the "parking" light and slowly bumped along the path alongside the stand of trees. It was much longer than Mara imagined and reminded her a little of the reckless car chase she had experienced just a few days ago when she landed in a crumpled heap among the pile of rocks in the field behind her mother's farm.

Finally they came to stop and the three of them climbed out and went around to the rear doors of the van. Mike turned off the outside lights and killed the engine. He and Annette opened the cases and extracted the antennae and apparently the cabling needed to tie them to the equipment in the van.

"You know how to set up the transceiver and the processing computers Annette, why don't you start plugging things in and set up the system while me and Mara place these antennas."

"No problem..." She went to work pulling some gear out of another plastic case and began connecting power from the van and cables to the equipment.

The antennae that had to be placed within site of the house were thankfully small and each stood on a miniature tripod with a relatively thin hookup wire that would stretch back to the van. They were flat and square with rounded corners that stood up perpendicular to the ground. There seemed to be a slight concavity on the broad side of the square – similar to a very small dish antenna.

"Come along with me, Mara, and we'll set these up," said Mike. They walked a little ahead of the van and just beyond the end of the stand of trees, the ground curved away enough that they could get a full view of the back of the house. Mara was a little startled by just how close they actually were. They could see that someone was obviously home. Although the curtains did not allow a view of the inside, it seemed from the varying light playing upon the drapery that perhaps a television was on.

'Setting up' the antennae was simply a matter of setting them on the ground about 15 feet apart with the concave dish facing the house. It began to rain an annoying mist and together they walked back to the van where Annette was fiddling with some cables and waiting for the equipment to boot up.

Mike began to explain what they were doing. "What we have here is simply a transmitter / receiver unit and a bunch of computers to make sense out of what we're receiving. We essentially 'spray' the house with a constant stream of precisely timed digital radio signals. These radio signals are up in the microwave range, that's why the antennas are so small.

"The trick is to listen at precisely the exact moment to the reflected radio signal off of the target area to get a picture of what's going on. The secret behind this is the Pico Timer. To the Pico Timer, all this stuff happens in relatively slow motion. Because we are using microwaves, the picture we get would normally be low resolution. Very low since the wavelength of the microwaves is much longer than the wavelength of light.

"But because of the very accurate read of the timing of the microwave reflections, we are getting almost photographic quality resolution. Since we are not using real light, there is no way to interpret actual colors, so we have to live with interpolated shades of grey. We need the computers to do the work of interpreting that radio reflection and making some sense out of it. Both antennas are used to transmit and receive. We have to have a complementary pair to make a complete image of the target area."

"We're linked up, We just need to get real time." Annette announced.

Mike continued to explain, "Unfortunately, the precise timing requires synchronizing everything to the exact same time. We don't carry an atomic clock out in the field with us, so we just use the time generated by our GPS receiver. GPS satellites have to have onboard atomic clocks for the positioning systems to work, so we start with that time, feed it in and the equipment is accurate enough to run once it's synchronized."

Mara noticed that one of the computers looked like a generic laptop machine that used a common operating system environment she was familiar with. Mike made a few mouse clicks and was running some sort of program to do the synchronization and automated equipment setup.

Annette said, "I'm not sure if I've got these cables terminated in the right ports Mike, could you have a look?"

While Mike and Annette were completing the setup, Mara felt out of place. She needed something to do because if she spent any time dwelling on what they were actually doing, she could feel the anxiety rise. She took a moment to glance around in the darkness but couldn't see too much. A little beyond the spot where she knew the antennae were, she thought she could make out some buildings. Perhaps a disused shed or garage. No doubt artifacts typical of the adjacent farm.

Mike said, "We're on the net right now with that laptop, but you can check your email and such if you want to keep busy while we finish the set-up."

"O.K."

"Yeah, feel free to play around..."

She poked around with the mouse and was able to find the internet site that she was using to host her e-mail for the time being. She was curious if any of the other companies she made inquiries of ever did respond. She waited while the login screen made its way to the laptop and finally entered her password to view her inbox. She had a couple of messages, one from someone soliciting loans. It seemed amazing how fast she could receive junk e-mail when she only had this e-mail address for a couple of days now. The second message practically made her faint.

Mike completed the setup and was ready to begin processing images. He came back around to the two computers and noticed Mara's expression of shock.

"Everything OK?" he began.

"It's... it's my brother..." was all she could say.

"What do you mean?"

"Apparently he's alive. He's sent a message!"

"Really? How do you know it is really from your brother? Anyone can send a message and say it's anyone they want. People send 'spam' messages all the time."

"Because he's asked me to meet him at a place that only he and I would know. It's a place called 'Fiddler's Rock'. We used to go their when we were kids. It's nothing really, just a big rock that always had a pool of ground water in front of it. We would go there and pretend the water was really a wishing well and make a wish. The big rock was shaped so as to make you think of an old fiddler, so we nicknamed it 'fiddler's rock'."

"When does he want to meet you there?"

"He says he will be there at seven for the next three evenings."

"Any explanation? Is he ok? Where has he been all this time?

"Nope. Just that it is vital that we see each other in person."

It was Mike's turn to get frustrated. What does this mean? Was this all some sort of game? How reliable was the tale of misery that Mara spun? Should they still go through with this little spying operation? Someone was still apparently stealing information from Sequitus and he believed that Mara was genuinely afraid for her life, so there had to be some substance to her story.

"Are we still going to go ahead with our plan?" Mike asked.

"We're here! Whether my brother's OK or not, someone's still trying to kill me. A lot of what we're doing is based on information supplied indirectly by him, anything we can find out before I go to see him can only help. Let's go ahead and see what happens..."

"OK, let's go..." Mike started a couple of more application programs on the computers and a window appeared that contained fuzzy movement. Like ghosts on TV, but only the ghosts. The shapes were nothing she could make out. She was a little dissappointed by the results so far. It reminded her of some of the sonograms she had seen of people's fetuses. Shadowy and difficult to interpret just what to make of it.

"This is only the raw data." Mike explained. Most of the work is done by this first machine. We'll use this other machine to clean this up. By adjusting the timing 'window' we can get a view of a 'slice' of the house at any depth. We need to find out where there are humans and zero in on that."

He began poking around on the laptop machine and another window appeared and what seemed to be the shape of a vacant room appeared. You could make out everything, but it seemed somehow... 'artificial'.

"The computer does a considerable amount of interpolation to fill in some of the details. As I mentioned, we can't do colors and with the radio wavelength being in the millimeter range, the computers do a lot to sort out the mess of reflected signals to get images with features smaller than a millimeter. People absorb these radio frequencies more so than other material, so the computer determines where the people are by the absence of a reflected radio signal.

"Annette, let's try index .1334 microseconds," he ordered. She adjusted some controls on the transceiver unit and Mike did some more poking around at the laptop. Finally, a clear image of another room with a person seated at a table or desk could be seen. It was a shadowy figure where features could not really be seen, like a person in dark shadows. Mike made some more adjustments and a faint, poor quality sound of the TV in the house could be heard on the laptop.

"We can get sound that's reflected off flat surfaces, especially metal desks or refrigerators and such. The vibration of the surface caused by the sonic source distort the radio reflection slightly. That distortion can be decoded to reproduce the sounds in the room," Mike explained.

He turned to Annette. "Let's tweak the backfill a touch to see if we can improve the artificial brightness." Annette's fingers made a few furious stabs at the keyboard. Another couple of clicks on the mouse and suddenly, the image of the person became surprisingly clear.

He inserted the memory media card into the side of the laptop and said, "Showtime!"

Mara stared at the image. She allowed the shape and features of the face of this man to burn into her memories. If he had anything to do with the torture she was enduring, she was never going to forget him. Annette had the phone number with her of the residence of one Mr. Damian Sanders. She made sure the call-ID function of her mobile phone was turned off, entered the number into the phone and handed it over to Mara.

Mara pressed the call button and waited a moment and the phone rang. A fraction of a second later, she could hear the phone ringing through Mike's computer as the equipment picked up the sound from inside the house relayed it to the laptop. This began a series of screeches and echoes that would make talking difficult. Mike made some more adjustments and the sounds died away. On the screen, she could see the person shape pick up the phone. "Hello?"

"Is this Damian Sanders?"

"Yes? May I ask who's calling?" Mara got the impression he wanted to end the call probably thinking it was an during-dinner telemarketer.

She drew a deep breath and boldly went on, "This is Mara Chandler... I thought that you should know that I know all about the tricks you and your friends are up to. I'm sick and tired of playing these games because it's my life that's at stake here. I'm going to burn you, you rotten son of a bitch. You better watch out , your little data theft enterprise is on borrowed time."

"I don't know who you are or what you're talking about," came his quick replay. A little too quick. An innocent person who really had no clue as to what she was talking about would have taken a couple of seconds to consider what this lunatic woman was raving about before finally denying any knowledge. "Whoever you are, you'd better think twice before you call and threaten me, I'll call the police!"

The phone went dead and she could see on the screen that he abruptly hung up.

The three of them crammed their heads around the screen wondering what he would do next. Was he indeed the bad guy? Did they come out here and set up surveillance for nothing? Or would this pay off? Would Mara finally be able to identify the person behind her tribulation?

Mike said in a low voice, "Nice job, that should get him to thinking." He was hoping that the guy wouldn't decide to leave. On the screen he stood up and paced a couple of times and simply walked out of the room.

"Oh-Oh..." was all Annette could think of to say.

"Quick, let's keep an eye on him." Mike said. He went to work for a moment on the main processing computer. "OK, change to time index .2113."

Annette went back to the control unit for the transceiver and made some adjustments. Another room came into view in the window on the laptop. It looked like it was laid out like a kitchen. Nobody seemed to be in the room. Mike made some further adjustments and another room, a bedroom came into view. A person was moving about, but all agreed, it was obviously a female. Could been the wife or a daughter perhaps. They hadn't even considered that there could be more people in the house besides the target. Mike began to get nervous, should he view the garage in case he was leaving? Would they even be able to follow?

Instead of going to the rear of the house, he examined the rooms nearest to the front, actually, from the street, it would have been the back that faces the fields. They found a room with bookshelves, desk and larger work surface, likely an office, cluttered with a computer monitor, phones and such and there he was, just coming into view. Mike breathed a bit of relief.

They watched as the target played with what must have been a speaker phone, but they were getting no sound. After fiddling around some more with the signal processing, they could hear the tail end of the phone number being dialed.

"Too bad we didn't get that whole number, it would have been nice to know who he was calling!" Mike exclaimed.

They could make out the ringing of the other end and then a person answered, "Hello? Damian, is that you?"

"Hi Red, yeah, it's me."

"What are you calling me here for! I thought we agreed not to unless it's an emergency!"

"You got your scrambler up? We gotta make sure this conversation is scrambled."

"Hang on a second..." From the laptop in the van, they could hear some pretty loud hissing for a moment and then a crisp "beep" as the phone scramblers synchronized.

"Now what's this all about?"

"She called..."

"What do you mean, she called? Who called?"

"The Chandler woman, she called here and made threats."

"What!?"

Although the voice on the other end was weak and fairly distorted, Mara had the odd feeling that she had heard it before. She just couldn't place it. And there was that name that Damian used again, 'Red'. She didn't think she knew anyone named Red. She racked her brain trying to think of where she had heard the voice before.

Damian continued, "She said that she knew all about what me and my 'friends' were up to and even made reference to our little data mining operation."

"You're kidding?! How would she know? Does she have evidence?"

"I don't know. But if she had evidence that we were copying data and decrypting it, I don't know why she would call me. Why not just go to the police?"

Mike whispered excitedly, "That was it! They said it! They're copying and decrypting data! We've got them!"

Mara sat back and tried to sift through her thoughts. First, Mike and Annette were right about this Damian person. He seemed to be in the middle of it all. She could not understand for the life of her who he was and why he would be trying to kill her. Somehow it was connected to Viiradium, it had to be. And who was the familiar voice? It was driving her nuts.

The small voice of Red came from the laptop, "Wait, she just called you and made threats and now you are calling me here? Are you Nuts!"

Damian responded, "What? What's the matter?"

"She'd trying to get evidence you fool! She wants to see what you would do after she called you. And what's the first thing you do? You call me!"

"Well at least we're on a scrambled line."

"Aren't you using a speakerphone? Perhaps your house is bugged!"

"No, it's not, it gets checked all the time! Calm down and let's think about this for a moment."

Just then another figure noisily burst through the door of Damian's office. "Mr. Sanders!" a grey shadowy figure huffed heavily. Damian was offended that Sonner, one of his security people, intruding during a private conversation.

"What is it Sonner!?"

"I tried to get you on your line but couldn't get through! We've detected a security breach, I just wanted to make sure you were all right! I've got men outside looking right now..."

"Find them! Red are you still there?"

Red had apparently hung up the phone.

Mike began hurriedly shutting down the machines. "Looks like the party's over girls, we better clear out of here... Now."
Chapter 27

"I can't believe this!" fumed Damian as he paced back and forth kicking whatever got to close to him. He thought about 10 minutes had gone by since Sonner, one of his security men, came in and announced there were intruders. What a fool! He fell right into her little trap. Hopefully she would now fall into his. His personal property was protected by a perimeter of sensors that was being monitored along with the other I-Data properties by staff security people. Typically, things were pretty quiet and the police had never been called on a breach of security. There were always a couple of guards on duty and more could be called if need be. The policy, however, was to notify the police in a case like this where someone could be in danger – especially at a personal residence.

So Damian waited, he knew the police were on their way, but he hoped his men would find her first so they could keep things quiet. Fortunately he had not heard any gunshots, so hopefully his people were not foolish enough to kill anybody when the police were soon to arrive. That would certainly complicate things.

Finally, Sonner reported back. "We got them sir."

"Them?"

"Yes a man and a woman. I'm afraid the man was badly injured when we tried to apprehend him and will likely need medical care. We have called for an ambulance."

"Just Great..."

"Sorry, sir"

"No, that's ok! Looks like we finally got the bitch. How is she?"

"Uh, you better come and see for yourself."

Damian followed Sonner outside to a van that was parked alongside the residence. On the ground next to the van was a man – about 40 or so – that did not look familiar to Damian. He was semi-conscious and there was some noticeable blood, but he looked like he was not in a life threatening situation. They had a blanket on him while they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

"Where is she?" Damian demanded.

One of the guys slid the side door open on the van and he was confronted with another one of the security team who was holding onto a handcuffed, smallish female. Damian's blood turned cold when he realized that she was completely unfamiliar to him. "Who the hell are you!" he demanded.

"My name is Annette Armitage and I demand to know what you people think you are doing? Release me at once!"

"Where is she!"

"Who?"

"Mara Chandler!"

She glanced sideways for just a brief moment before saying, "I don't know who you're talking about." It was enough to convince him that she was lying. He wanted to belt her across the lips himself, but he could hear the police or the ambulance approaching.

He turned to Sonner, "She must still be out there. This one's lying. Find Her!"

*

Mara trembled in the darkness. She tried to tame the out-of-control sounds her body was making. She was sure the hammering of her heart inside her head would be tangible to anyone that approached her as she crouched there attempting to be motionless.

She still clutched the small media card she snatched from the laptop at the last moment before barely making her escape.

As Mike was switching off the equipment, there were suddenly men at the back door of the van. They swung open the doors and roughly grabbed Annette by the hair and practically lifted her out of the van by it. Mike tried to put up a fight but was struck a blow by someone's nightstick and he crumpled to the ground.

In the commotion, Mara fell forward more to the front of the van and in the dim light behind some of the equipment, the intruders didn't apparently see her. At least she hoped they didn't. While they were occupied with Mike and Annette, she extracted the media card from the laptop and crawled further toward the front of the van. She quietly climbed out of the driver side door and scooted through the tall, wet, dying grass into the darkness.

Eventually, she made her way to the farm building she spotted at the edge of the field earlier. It was really nothing more than an old pole shed. The door was simply a large opening and there was only a dirt floor. The wood siding of simple vertical boards, were weathered with enough spaces and cracks in them for her to peer out.

By pressing an eye up to one of the cracks, she could see the lights of at least of the part of the house that not obscured by the rise in the ground and tall weeds. The light slipping in through the cracks cast ugly shapes and shadows on Mara's face and throughout the inside of the shed. She sharply caught her breath when she could make out the silhouette of a figure standing on the small hill, looking in the direction of the pole shed.

If he carried a light, there would be no way she could hide in here without being discovered. She frantically looked around for some means to escape or to hide, but could see nothing appropriate. Her heart was beating so furiously, she could feel the pulse in her neck. For the second time in just a few days, her right leg began to tremor and she couldn't seem to make it stop.

She could hear a siren and wondered if it was the police after her or perhaps an ambulance for Mike. She hoped he would be OK. Annette and Mike would no doubt tell the police that she was with them. She wondered if they would add burglary or trespassing to the murder charges.

Perhaps she should take her chances with the police. She had the proof in her hand. The media card. It contained the recording of the phone conversation. It was certainly enough to convince her, wouldn't it be enough to convince the police?

Suddenly she felt a wave of nausea at the recognition of the voice that spoke with Damian. She didn't recognize it at first because of the poor quality of the sound coming through a speakerphone and then the anemic reproduction of the voice by the equipment they were using. She had just heard that same voice on the television a couple of days ago at Dell's house. Bob Danvers, the Chair and Chief of the Viiradium Corporation. Running for Governor of the state of Massachusetts. Bob, or Robert Edmund Danvers – R.E.D. Of course. His close associates used his nickname 'Red' in conversation with him.

The pieces began to assemble into ugly clarity. No wonder they wanted to shut her up so badly! It was becoming political. Here was a trusted man with lots of money – in fact a billionaire – and lots of power who wanted even more. If what she knew were to become public, never mind the police, if even the media got wind of this story, it would ruin him completely. Politics and scandal were poor bedfellows. Imagine the heyday the media would have: Large scale theft of private information for profit. Kidnapping. Murder. Attempted murder. He would go down and go down hard.

The only thing she had to do, was... survive.

*

Mike awoke with the worst headache he had ever had.

"The doctors say you're going to be alright," came a masculine voice from his left. He tried to turn towards the voice, but winced at the pain. "Mild concussion, possible hairline fracture, but that's about it. You should be getting out of here today."

Mike turned enough to notice a nice looking, tall gentleman in his early thirties. "Who are you?" was all he could rasp out through his lips.

"My name is Dell Taylor. I'm an investigator for the Bedford Police Department."

Mike cleared his throat some more and replied, "Where's Annette?"

"She's fine. Perhaps a better question is, 'Where's Mara?'"

"What do you mean?"

"The police are pretty much closing this case since they caught you and Annette on the scene. Trespassing. It won't be much of a sentence if you are found guilty. The people at the Sander's place – the security rent-a-cops and Damian Sanders – are really quite accommodating. I don't know what you were trying to do there, but oddly enough they don't seem to concerned and are just sort of walking away. However, your partner, Annette, has told me a rather tall tale."

"It's all true – you must believe her. But, what do you mean 'Where's Mara'? Don't you know?"

"Well, since you two could not have corroborated a story due to your being unconscious, let's just see how well your story matches hers."

Mike began from the beginning. He described how the company was getting 'exposed' somehow and that it apparently was being done by someone with access to private information in some way. He described their eventual discovery of a gray market service that sells information from an entity called I-Data. Then the incredible discovery of Mara and her story. Finally the surveillance operation and the fact that they had all the evidence they needed in the recording of the video of Damian's phone conversation.

"Well, I don't know about any 'evidence', but we didn't find anything in your van but a few tools, cables and some sort of electronic gear. From our perspective, it looks like the two of you were up to no good and there is no evidence to say otherwise."

Dell winced a bit from his injuries as he stood up and Mike suddenly realized with a start that this was the cop Mara told them about. The one who betrayed her, turned her over to the bad guys. Now he had just opened his mouth when he should have kept it closed. Where did all the equipment end up? Where was the media card with the recording of the conversation? Did the police have it? Or did Damian's people get to it first. Either way, with no evidence to bail him out it didn't look good.

Dell continued, "Listen, I believe both of you. We must find Mara because her life is in danger."

Mike replied somewhat caustically, "I didn't realize until you stood and it dawned on me that you were the cop that Mara said not to trust. She told us about you. You were the one that betrayed her. A so-called 'public servant' no less!"

"Betrayed her?! No! I was attacked! Is that really what she thinks??" He unbuttoned his shirt and showed him the bandages from the stiletto attack. "I was left for dead and they took the card from my pocket. The card she gave me with the address of the motel on it. I was trying to help her. As soon as I could manage we had people go straight to her motel to help. I don't believe she is guilty of anything. I think rather that she is the victim here."

Mike considered this for a moment. First, he wanted to know where the media card with the recording was. If the cops really didn't know where Mara was, it means she could have escaped. Did she escape with the media card? More likely she was captured and taken into the house before the cops arrived and Damian and his goons were happy to have her. They could discredit Mike and Annette as mere criminals who were trespassing with the intent to do harm. If she really was captured, then tragically, she was likely dead. Especially if she had the card. Most likely the only hope she would have of surviving would be to let the police catch her. He was gripped with indecision, but finally realized that her only hope was with the authorities. He would have to believe and trust the cop – at least for now.

"If she's still free, she should be going to Fiddler's Rock."

"What do you mean, 'if she's still free'?"

"I mean if they didn't get to her before you guys showed up. If they did, they certainly wouldn't turn her over to you. She knew everything about what was going on there. She told us everything and I am going to be sure they are exposed. Hopefully it's still not too late for her."

Mike could see that this made Dell uncomfortable. Perhaps he really was telling the truth after all.

With grim determination, Dell asked in a low and even tone, "Where is this 'Fiddler's Rock'?"

"Unfortunately, I don't really know." Mike explained the e-mail she received the night before supposedly from her brother claiming he wanted to meet her there. She felt it was safe because only the two of them understood the actual location.

"It has to be some sort of a trap." Dell responded. "Did she say anything about this place? Any details?"

"Just that it was a place they used to go to as kids. A big rock with a pool of groundwater in front of it that they would pretend was a wishing well. The rock reminded them of an old fiddler, hence the name. It's got to be in the area where they grew up."

"When was she going?"

"The message said to meet him there any of the next three nights, I think she said seven. Actually, how long have I been in the hospital?"

"You came in just last night and have been here just so far today... Hey, listen, I don't have much time if I'm going to drive up to New Hampshire to try to find this place before seven, so I've gotta get moving. I'll let you know what happens."

*

Dell was not sure where exactly he should go, but back to Ashbury, New Hampshire seemed like the best bet. He was pretty sure that was where Mara and Chris would have spent their childhood, so hopefully someone there would know where Fiddler's Rock was or what it is or whatever. Even though he was out of his jurisdiction, he put on the strobe lights of his unmarked investigator's car and sped off towards Ashbury.

On the way he thought about how he was going to find out about the location of this place. Would any of the local's know? It seemed like a ridiculous question to ask: 'Say, would you happen to know about any large rocks around that might remind you of an old fiddler?' people would be sure to give their dumbest of looks to such an absurd question.

Since it was a place they used to visit as kids, would it be within walking distance of her mother's old house? It seemed like a good place to start. He thought about how he would phrase the question to make it seem most credible. He would explain the danger Mara was in, and that the key to helping her was the location of this place, even though it seemed like an odd request.

He could visit the neighbors around the old place before seven o'clock and hopefully turn up a clue. It was a desperate attempt at hopefully rescuing her, but at the moment he was feeling pretty desperate himself. How could he have let her slip through his fingers!? Now he had the stories of Mike Ludwik and Annette Armitage to support her accusations and though not much, it was a lot more than she had before. They really have no reason to lie and they have nothing in common with Mara except being victims of the same scandal. The testimony of the three of them could not go ignored.

So, she was indeed, left out in the cold so to speak. And, sadly, the biggest offender of all was he himself. He was so worried about his own career that he put his own interests above her very life. The day she stood in the kitchen of the farmhouse wrapped inside his arms should have been the last time she would have to worry about any of this. But instead, he let her go through a virtual hell.

If he wasn't so mad at himself, he could have cried over the loss of Mara. What was he thinking! She had to be alive! He had to find her!

*

"Why can't I speak with him directly?" Damian asked.

"Because Mr. Danvers feels he can in no way continue to associate with you or your organization," came the terse reply. Arrgh! Did he hate lawyers! This lawyer was apparently a damage control and legal clean up person sent by Bob Danvers to be sure he was in no way associated with any scandal that might develop as a result of Mike and Annette telling their story. The lawyer continued, "I am authorized to speak in his behalf in any matters necessary."

"So he thinks he can just cut bait and leave me out on my own, does he?"

"Am I supposed to take that as a threat?" asked the lawyer?

"Take it however the hell you want! What are we going to do now?" he said bitterly.

"Well, the trespassing charges – if we pursue them – are not going to be enough pressure or persuade them to keep quiet. You have to remember they too, are victims here. The only reason they were trying to help Ms. Chandler is because they wanted to put an end to their own troubles."

"We can simply deny anything they have to say!"

"Actually, we already are. We are publicizing the event as if they were criminals seeking to destroy a corporate enemy. They are not looking all that good right now. And of course we have other means to put more pressure on them."

"Other means? What, are you going to hold their mothers for ransom?"

"You would be the one to know about such things. You seem more of the expert in using physical means of persuasion," the lawyer replied sarcastically. "What we have, is information. Remember, we know a considerable amount of secret information about the technology they are developing. We could threaten to divulge that information to pressure them to be silent."

"What a piece of work you guys are! You're going to threaten them with information we basically 'stole'? You've got to be kidding me!"

"I think that you are not a good one to be talking to others about moral behavior."

"What about the girl? We were hoping she'll show up tonight. If not, then perhaps tomorrow night. If she does, we've got her!"

"So kill another innocent victim?"

"The mother was an accident! In fact the police believe the girl to be the prime suspect right now."

"That won't hold up for long, there's too many holes in that theory. Even the police are beginning to see that."

"Well, then the mother was a simple burglary victim then – I don't know – that's your area of expertise!"

"We may still have one hope left, go ahead with the attempt to meet with her tonight and see what events play out. She could still be convinced."

"I suppose that's true, but I don't know if we should risk everything on that hope. What if she can't be convinced?"
Chapter 28

Mara could hardly believe it. What happened to her was in quite simple terms the actual definition of what you would call 'dumb luck'.

The night was awful. She managed to feel her way around the inside of the shed and discover an old piece of farm machinery among the assorted junk. She wormed her way inside the rusted contraption as quietly as possible and waited. She thought again of the experience with the coffin and shuddered. She had to concentrate hard to keep the tremors in her right leg from making any noise as she could hear someone approaching. In fact, there were voices, so there must have been at least two people. They knew she was out here. She knew they were the bad guys. She saw Mike go down and they never identified themselves as police. At least with the police, there would have been some safety – she hoped.

She stiffly nestled against the cold, aging metal and waited. She could hear them exploring the inside cavern of the shed, probing with their flashlights. After a moment, one said to the other, "Nothing, what about you?"

"I don't think she's here either."

"Well, now what?"

"I don't know. One thing for sure, we're not supposed to let her get to the police, so we better keep looking."

That was interesting. They certainly weren't the police and they wanted to prevent her from getting to the police. Perhaps the police was just the place she should go? They may be corrupt or otherwise involved in this thing, but at least she would probably live.

However, before she did anything like turn herself in, she had to be at Fiddler's Rock first. She had to see if her brother had indeed sent that message, that he could be alive. She pondered the legitimacy of the message. Her email account was the temporary new one she set up for herself to probe the companies like Sequitus with her appetizing statement about possible data theft. How would Chris know the email address she was using? That made the message highly suspect. Plus, she supposed that anyone could send a message and claimed you were somebody else, like many junk mail messages claim to be from someone they're not. But the reference to a location that only the two of them would know certainly gave a lot of weight to the idea that he might still be alive, no matter how the message found its way to her. She had to know.

Eventually she dozed for a while from sheer exhaustion. Even though it was an unusually warm November night, the penetrating cold from the flaking metal woke her. She decided it was time to get out of there. She had no idea how long she might have slept, but she didn't think anyone was around anymore and she couldn't stay in there forever.

She extracted herself from the machinery and made her way back out of the shed. She could discern on her watch in the faint glow of the pre-dawn sky that is was almost 5:30. She must have slept through most of the night. She made her way in the opposite direction from the house in the retreating darkness. Beyond the farm across the field lay the highway. Just down the road a few miles from there was the more congested area where they had found the restaurant earlier that evening.

She would have to make her way there on foot and then... punt.

Eventually, after a good couple of hours of walking – some of it through fields, most of it on the roadway, she made it to a fast food restaurant. She entered and made her way straight towards the bathroom.

The sight of herself in the mirror actually frightened her. She didn't even recognize the person. She had forgotten her hair was a different color. Now it was still wet and looked rather like a hag. The bruises on her face were still fading and there was a good lot of dirt ground into her clothing from crawling into the machinery.

Then, fortune changed. A women entered the bathroom, a woman about fifty or so, and saw her standing there, tears streaming down her bruised face, dirt smeared on her clothes looking at her pitiful reflection. The woman looked down at the floor as she walked by and went into one of the stalls.

Mara tried to clean herself up a little. She was embarrassed to be seen by others and didn't really want to talk to anybody right now.

The woman emerged and washed in the sink and dried off with a towel, but instead of leaving like Mara had hoped, the woman said, "Poor dear. You really look like you could use some help."

Mara realized the woman probably thought she was the victim of spouse abuse or something. "No, I'm really ok. Thank you..." Mara said meekly.

The woman kept up the conversation and seemed genuinely interested in helping out. Eventually, Mara agreed to accept a ride to Ashbury from the woman, who identified herself as Anne. It turned out that Anne had a daughter who lived up that way, and that she was making a trip there anyway to visit her daughter and her newborn grand-daughter and it would be no trouble to give Mara a lift.

It was a good thing Anne had come along. Mara wouldn't have even been able to find her way from the unfamiliar neighborhood to Ashbury in spite of the fact she was a native of the area. The trip gave her some time to reflect and to relax. Anne chattered about uninteresting family nonsense for a while, a few references to the weather and such, but eventually quieted down when Mara responded with minimal effort.

Mara still had the evidence – the digital recording of the conversation between Damian and Bob Danvers. She also had an appointment with someone who apparently was her brother or someone who knew an awful lot of intimate details about him to be able to identify a place like Fiddler's Rock for them to meet. She knew she had to do something about both, but exactly what, she wasn't quite sure. The evidence would be the only bargaining chip she held and hopefully she could use it to barter for her life, and perhaps her brother's too – although, her mind still couldn't accept the fact that it was actually him.

Keeping the memory media chip on her would be dangerous. She would have to put it in a safe location where no one could find it. That presented a problem though. If no one but she knew where it was and something was to happen to her, then it would stay in its hiding place, forever keeping the ugly secrets of one Robert Edmund Danvers, Candidate for Massachusetts State Governor, safe and sound.

The real problem was, there was no one that she could trust whom she could leave the evidence with. Besides, if the identity of that person were discovered, then they would be in danger as well. So that left... no one. Perhaps Anne, her present chauffeur? What would be her reaction to Mara's wild tale of lies, deceit, murder and abduction? Probably to dump her off right here in the middle of nowhere and speed away wondering what she was thinking giving such a person a ride in the first place. She wound up re-considering the police, but again, she wanted to be at the seven o'clock rendezvous to find out about the tempting message from Chris. The police would likely take her into custody and hold onto her until they could straighten the whole thing out. Besides, she had already been a first-hand victim of how Mr. Danvers seemingly had control of even the police if he needed to.

A simpler plan was forming in her mind: why not just pay someone whose job it was to take care of such things. Lawyers were supposed to be trusted, as long as you paid them. She could pay a lawyer to hold onto the evidence so she could bargain for her release from this hell. She didn't even care at this point if they were stealing private information, she only wanted to be left alone. Eventually she decided what she must do.

She asked Anne if she might happen to have a pen and something to write on. Once she retrieved these from a bag in the back of the car, she began to hastily write notes. She wrote down in a loose outline the events of the last week or so. She became a little more descriptive when she got to the last day, but she was explicit in details about her belief that Mr. Danvers was in control. From the beginning, there was the overheard phone conversation where she heard someone talking to "Red". The death of her mother, again, Red – Mr. Danvers – was ultimately responsible. The systematic rerouting, decrypting and basically auctioning of private data for profit, enormous profit no doubt, and again, Mr. Danvers at the bottom of it. Then the little piece of evidence stored on the memory media and the fact that hopefully, her story could be corroborated by Mike Ludwik and Annette Armitage of Sequitus Tech.

*

By the time she was finished with her notes, she was surprised by the fact they were almost to Ashbury. Anne wanted to know where to drop Mara. She was not surprised when Mara asked if she knew any good lawyers in town.

The only problem was that Mara could hardly afford the fees of a lawyer right now. She began to have a better idea. "Anne, do you know the name of that little paper that they used to run in Ashbury?"

After some hesitation, Anne replied, "Ah, I think my daughter gets that every now and then, is it just a weekly paper?"

"It always used to be. I know where the office always was right on Main street in town, If you could just take me there instead I would really appreciate it."

"Well, sure... I feel bad about just dropping you off though. Are you sure you're going to be ok? Is there anything I can do?"

Mara appreciated her concern, but she didn't know how long she was going to be there so she replied, "You've done a lot already. I really appreciate the ride up here. I'll find a ride once I finish up at the paper."

"Oh, here it is! The Ashbury Advertiser"

They said their good-byes and as Mara entered, she thought that she was about to make someone's day.

*

The mobile phone jerked him rudely from his quite, frustrated reverie. He answered with the customary "Dell Taylor..."

The phone call was from the Bedford station. They had found Mara's car. Actually his car, the little car that Mara was using. It was in the Cambridge area, in one of the lots at MIT. He would have thought that she wouldn't be too far from the car. So he had a tough choice to make. Turn around and abandon the Ashbury trip and the search of the fanciful 'Fiddler's Rock'? Go back to MIT and try to find her? Was she still planning to come to Ashbury yet? How would he find her if he went to the car? Sit and wait? Anyone could sit and watch the car, it didn't have to be him.

He bet that she would make the trip to see her brother. He had to be there to find her – he wasn't about to lose her again. The only trouble was, could 'Fiddler's Rock' perhaps not be a place in or near Ashbury? What if it had some figurative meaning? He could be driving miles and miles in the wrong direction right now.

He swore as he slammed an indecisive fist into the steering wheel. Never did a case so disconcert him. Actually, he had to admit, this was no ordinary case, his own feelings were involved this time.
Chapter 29

She had lost about an hour in the Newspaper office. Overall, she felt pretty encouraged. At first, she almost turned around and went right back out again. What was she thinking? This was a small town, once a week paper. The kind that carried articles describing the calls on the local police scanner. They were in no position to do anything about a story that merited national attention.

But the kind invitation of the woman inside held her long enough. She was sort of a news junkie - a Jack-of-all-trades. A little bit editor, a bit reporter, some administrative and technical skills all wrapped up in one. She introduced herself as Rae and it turned out that she worked at a bigger paper at one time. Where was it? Cleveland Mara thought she said. She came to Ashbury in a semi-retirement mood and landed at the Advertiser to keep from being bored.

She knew a lot about news and seemed very interested in Mara's story. Mara went over her notes as she told the story to keep from getting too far ahead of herself and to try to speak only of the facts and not to let her emotions get into the mix. She felt very confused when she relayed details regarding Dell. Again, she could not believe that he would betray her so.

By the time she was finished, Rae was very excited. She asked a lot of questions and took a lot of notes. Obviously, this story was not one for the Ashbury Advertiser, but rather more for the Washington Post. Rae had some contacts and felt she could get an important story published, but this story might be considered a poorly sourced tale from a unreliable informant. The part about the way encryption worked and how the long forgotten mathematical "Tomb" was discovered was all quite confusing and not something of interest to most everyday news readers.

But the bottom line was a dream-come-true hit for a reporter: The fact that secret information was systematically being gathered, stored and basically made available for profit was a ghastly thought. With all of the screaming privacy liberals in politics these days, this would be the scoop of the decade.

However, there was the one little important detail – the "Proof". What evidence did Mara have? This outlandish story might not be believed by a big Newspaper Editor. Mara was not willing to give up the electronic recording she held. It was the one bargaining chip she had left and she wanted to stay in control. She explained to Rae her reasons for not giving it up. Mara seemed very sincere and Rae had a knack for telling if someone was telling the truth and she believed Mara. She tried to put herself in Mara's shoes and she had to admit, she probably wouldn't want to give up anything she had control of either. The method of using some sort of radio transmission to video record through solid walls seemed somewhat fanciful, but then if they really could do it, it would make sense why Sequitus was a target as well.

Rae could probably write a pretty good piece based on what Mara relayed to her so far. She wanted to know how it would end up and, more importantly, what did Mara want her to do with this story. Could she convince a big town Editor that this was real? Then for a moment Rae worried that if perhaps anyone knew Mara was here, it could be dangerous for both of them, because now there were two people with the whole story, Mara and Rae. Of course there was also the people from Sequitus who knew as well, so the circle was growing.

She needed to get this into the paper. Once lots of people started hearing about this, the public would demand a thorough investigation of Viiradium. Wouldn't that be something? The beloved gem of Wall Street, crooked as the Russian Mafia. And, at the top? Bob Danvers – Candidate for governor. Wow! No wonder they wanted her dead.

"Where do we go from here?" Rae asked.

"I still want to report as directed to Fiddler's Rock tonight. I know it's a long shot, but how would anyone but him and me know about it? I have to at least go and see."

"Well, let's see, 'Fiddler's Rock'. Yes, isn't that the place where people go by the little pool and throw coins into the water as if it was a wishing well? They've got a transmitting tower up there now. Cellular phone transmitter I think."

Mara's heart sank. "Is it still there?"

"Oh, yes. There's a nice gravel driveway up to the tower, but the big ol' rock is still there. Should be pretty easy to get to. I suppose it does seem pretty hard to believe that someone besides your brother could be sending you that message. Perhaps he is alive and he was forced to."

"I've thought about that. That's why I don't want to give up the evidence I have. I also want you to get this story ready to go, but don't give it to anyone just yet. The knowledge that I have the story documented and ready to be publicized is another tool."

"You're asking a lot. You came in here with a pretty big story – political and police corruption, corporate scandal, wide scale theft, murder, kidnapping – and you want me to hang onto it?"

"Oh, I have every intention of letting you get all the credit for every last word, but not just yet. If I don't come in here tomorrow by the end of the day, then they got me too. Then you can publish the story. If I do come in here tomorrow, well, I'm not sure what that means yet, but you probably can publish it then too, so I'm just asking for one day."

Rae gave her a penetrating look and after a moment said, "Agreed. One more day. That will give me enough time to work on this story and get it ready. Do you mind if I take your notes?"

Mara handed over her notes. Between her notes and the ones that Rae made during their conversation, she probably had enough for a pretty good version of the story. Rae went on, "I'm pretty worried about you going up there alone tonight. By seven o'clock it'll be pretty dark. Why not take someone along? I would be happy to be there."

Mara looked a bit panic stricken and Rae wondered what was wrong. "Right now, you are the only other person that knows the full story – beginning to end. You're my hope of ending this thing. If you go along and something happens to you, they get to keep their little secret. Besides, I don't want to risk showing up with an entourage and spooking whoever is going to be there to meet me. I want to find out and finally put an end to this thing."

"I could send someone else along. At least someone to give you a ride up there..."

"Getting dropped off would be fine, But first there is one more thing I must do. I want to get there early, but there's still plenty of time. I'll be back later this afternoon." She stood up to leave and Rae got up as well. "I can't say how much I appreciate all your help, Rae."

"I haven't done much of anything yet, but hopefully we can put this thing to rest real soon."

They briefly shook hands and Mara went back out into the sunshine heading across the street to the post office for one final task.

*

Dell pulled into the driveway of the deceased Mrs. Chandler. The house looked the same as it had a couple of days ago, still had the customary yellow "Police Line – Do Not Cross" ribbon placed in front of the doors. He went around back and entered through the unlocked door that led to the kitchen. Dried blood stains were still noticeable, but that was no surprise – who would clean them up? Usually the family would be allowed to, but in this case, one family member – Chris – was missing, the other – Mara – on the run from everyone.

He wasn't sure what to look for, but he was hoping for a clue. Something that might indicate the whereabouts of the elusive 'Fiddler's Rock'. He went upstairs to the bedroom area and found Mrs. Chandler's room. One of the other rooms was used for storage and, from the sewing paraphernalia, probably a sewing hobby of Mrs. Chandler. The third room was still a bedroom, likely Chris' room since he would have been last to move out and the fact that it lacked any female amenities. He rummaged around a bit, but could find nothing to hint at what he was looking for.

After about another hour of frustration, he left. Perhaps neighbors would be of some assistance. Was there a library in town? There should be someone around who could identify the location of this place for him. The main part of the town was not far from the farm house, he would probably find the most success where he could find people, so he thought having a look around town would be the next best place to check.

As he drove towards the village of Ashbury itself, he made a call to the Bedford Station to check on the surveillance operation of his car parked at MIT. He waited to be patched through to the officer assigned to watch the vehicle. Since it was in Cambridge, it was someone he would not know personally. At least people were taking this case more seriously now. Hopefully the criminal influence and control over the police that had been hampering his efforts were finally beginning to erode. With the people from Sequitus able to provide significant details now, the case was finally starting to unravel. As it did, the twisted mire of deceit, scandal and blatant crime grew deeper. The one thing he, or anyone else for that matter, did not have was evidence. The Sequitus people claimed there was a recording made of their little amateur escapade, but nothing was found. If it were true, then Damian Sanders or his goons must have taken it before the police arrived on the scene.

On one hand he was frustrated that the unskilled team of Mara, Mike and Annette tried to take matters into their own hands. On the other hand, he couldn't really blame them. What were they supposed to do? Go to the police? Mara already tried that and it almost got her killed. For all he knew, perhaps it did get her killed.

If he made a poor assumption and it turned out that this place was not even in Ashbury, he would miss the meeting. If he could not find anyone who might be able to tell him where it was, he would miss the meeting.

If she was captured, there would be no meeting at Fiddler's Rock at all.

He had only one choice at this point, find it and hope for the best.

He was finally patched through to the surveillance officer and found that no activity had been observed. There were supposedly a couple of other cops on campus asking questions, but so far, nothing had turned up.

As Dell hung up the phone, he pulled into town. He noticed that the earlier sunshine was giving way to some much nastier looking clouds. 'How appropriate' he thought to himself. Trying to find someone when you had no idea where to look was hard enough. Trying to find them in the dark and in a storm was even worse.
Chapter 30

Mara felt she was finally ready. The anticipation was making her extremely anxious. The excess coffee didn't help either. For a moment, she wished that she smoked. It would give her something to do. How lamentable that she had been pushed this far. She had a good hearty meal at a local diner that she walked to and used some of her precious cash to finally buy a better coat. Not one that was particularly her style of fashion, but it would keep her warm and even had a hood. The change in the weather looked like she might need one.

It was about 5:30 when she finally arrived through the dark, blustering wind to the small office of the Advertiser. Rae was still there, working on the story.

"I thought I would have it done by now, but there are a lot of other things I have to do to keep the place running as well," Rae said. "I was also thinking that it might not be a good idea to come here. If these people who are after you know about this meeting as you suspect, they might already be in town and might have seen you. If they knew you were here, it might be a compromise."

"I'm so paranoid at this point, I agree."

"Well, you're here and we can leave by the back way. I have a nephew that's supposed to give you a ride. I still don't like the idea of you going alone!"

"I know, but it's like I said, by tomorrow, one way or another, you can go public with the story." She didn't add 'whether I make it or not'.

"Before you go, let me show you what I'm working on." As Rae spoke, she carefully closed the blinds on the front windows. Then she returned to her work area which included a pretty recent looking laptop computer and high quality color printer.

She reviewed the rough draft so far. It was hard boiling the exposé down to something appropriately sized for a newspaper. But, in the end, Mara thought it was a pretty good piece. A nice little bombshell to get the ball rolling. And if it appeared in a major newspaper, there would be no stopping it.

By the time they finished, it was after six. Mara kept checking the time. She wanted to be early so she could be there first. Rae noticed her nervous habit and assured her that her nephew, Ross, would be there any minute to give her a lift. Almost on cue, a youngish looking man came slamming through the front door.

"Ross, this is Mara. You know where she needs to go right?"

"Yeah, sure, up by that new transmitting tower right?"

"Just take her there and drop her off. Make sure no one follows you."

"OK."

Rae rummaged through her purse and extracted a mobile phone. "I want you to take this with you Mara. It can't hurt to have a little added security and besides, you will eventually be needing someone to pick you up." She handed the phone over to Mara. "Let me give you the number here and at my house. I should be at one or the other. And if you need to call, don't worry about what time it is."

"I don't know..." began Mara. She hesitated out of a natural sense of politeness not to borrow things from people you don't know not knowing if you will ever really return it.

"Just take it and go! I insist..."

Mara gave her thanks and put the phone into one of the large pockets of her new coat.

"Ross, I'm going to send Mara out the back door. Could you drive around the block and come up to the back door? Make sure no one follows." He thought that was an odd request, but Aunt Rae was a bit of an eccentric anyway. He wasn't sure just what this was all about, but Aunt Rae said it was very important. He shrugged, turned and slammed out into the blustery night.

"Ross's dad was my husband's brother, he owns the hardware store up the street."

"Was?"

"Well, yes, I separated from my husband some time ago, but I always got along good with the rest of the family and Ross will probably end up owning the hardware store someday. Having some family here is one of the things that brought me here. Funny how I always got along with his family better than my husband ever did."

Mara gathered her purse, checked again that the phone was in her pocket and headed out the back door as Ross pulled up. She paused for a moment and Rae gave her a long look before saying good-bye.

Then she stepped into the gloom of the increasingly turbulent night.

*

Ross remained quiet for the most part and the ride out to Fiddler's Rock was mainly conducted in this awkward silence. She knew little about him and only could think to comment on the weather. He seemed in his early 20's and not bad looking although he had the hands of a worker, permanently scarred and a bit stained.

The ride gave her a little time to think, but before she knew it, they were rounding the familiar bend in the road where they needed to pull off.

Overall, things looked pretty much the same, except now there was a stone driveway that could take a car or truck from the main road up the steep grade and through a bit of woods to the steeper and more rocky terrain beyond. Ross pulled into the end of the drive and was prevented from taking her any further by a gate and chain lock. She thanked him very much for the lift and got out of the car. She watched as he backed out onto the main road and pulled away, heading in the same direction they had come from.

She looked up and just beyond the trees she could make out the outline of the new mobile phone transmitting tower with its' customary blinking aircraft warning lights. Since it was no doubt operated by some utility company, it was not surprising that access would be limited by the gate at the beginning of the drive.

She walked around the post that anchored the gate and began a brisk walk up the drive. She had to be about 30 or 40 minutes early and the walk, while mostly uphill, would be pretty short. She was grateful that the steeper hill further ahead of her at least provided some shelter from the wind gusts. She worried a little about what it would be like as she approached the top. She remembered that from The Rock you could turn and look out over the lower fields and see the town in the distance. She hoped it had not changed too much, it would be nice to see things as she remembered.

Since there was no cars evident at the start of the driveway, she felt pretty confident that she would be the first one here. However, she also had an unpleasant nagging thought that she would be the only one to show. That this was all for nothing. She had a million questions: What if Chris did write the message in all sincerity and then find that he was just not able to come? Or was the message from Chris at all? Hopefully someone would show and she would finally get to the end of this incredible escapade.

She came over the last crest and the sight was breathtaking. She still had an unobstructed view of the town in the distance. The faint glow of diffuse light from the town was enough to illuminate the dark, fast moving clouds that seemed just beyond her reach. The sharp wind tugged fiercely at her short cropped blond hair. The combination was a sensory feast, although a bit of a scary one. She hunkered down in her jacket and hoped that it would not begin to rain.

Fiddler's Rock was still pretty much the same as she remembered. The driveway construction has actually filled in much of the spring fed little pool of water, but there was still a pool there and yes, the rock still reminded her of an old fiddler. Just beyond the rock was a small, gray steel building enclosed in chain link fence with a bunch of thick, black cabling that let up the hill a little ways further and eventually up the side of the transmitting tower to the final destination of the triangular antenna candelabra on top. A few low power lights on the building itself served as a meek attempt to improve security and added enough ambient light to make out most details of her surroundings.

She couldn't help but pause for a moment and stare into the pool for awhile and reflect on the past couple of weeks. She found herself digging through her pockets and purse until she found a coin – a quarter – and making a quick wish of seeing her brother and that things would turn out OK, she closed her eyes and flipped it into the water. She heard the satisfying "plink" of the coin hitting the pool and stood there for a moment with her eyes tightly closed. Even closed, she couldn't help but let some of the tears of the past few anxious days squeeze through and find their way down her cheeks.

She was jolted out of her quiet trance by a familiar voice that asked: "What did you wish for?"

*

Her heart racing, she slowly turned toward the direction of the voice and was actually astonished to see her brother, Chris, standing there alone in the stubborn wind. He had a stupid, crooked grin on his face and his hands in his pockets. She wasn't sure if she wanted to kick him or hug him. Probably hug first, then kick.

"Chris! Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick about you! Why haven't you called?" Then after a brief pause in her questioning, added with a raised eyebrow: "How did you get up here?"

"It's a bit of a long story..." They both had to raise their voices to compete with the shouts of the gusting wind. "I like your new hair, it probably threw them off for a while."

"Threw them off? Do you know what I've been going through!?"

"I've got a pretty good idea."

"Can you explain to me what's going on? Why are people trying to kill me? Why haven't you been around to help me out?"

"Like I said, it's a long story."

"It's not like we're going anywhere, I don't even have a car!"

"Mara, I'm sorry about all that's happened. I certainly didn't want you to get pulled into this." She didn't like the sound of that at all. He was dropping a lot of hint that were starting to make her fell much more uncomfortable.. What kind of plot did he get himself into this time?

"Don't tell me you are somehow involved in all this?"

"I made a discovery one day. Sort of stumbled onto it. Partly through some stuff I found at work, partly through some logical reasoning and good mathematics. It turns out that there is a way, obscure and difficult though it may be, but a way nonetheless, to decode top secret and scrambled information from both corporations and government alike."

"I know, it's called the 'Tomb of Rivest'."

He gave a brief pause of surprise that she knew that much. "At first, I didn't know it had a name. I would never have discovered it myself if it weren't for some critical evidence – the missing link, so to speak – at the office. I suspected that Viiradium may have known a lot more about this technique and as I investigated, I discovered that my suspicions were true."

"Yes, I know, Viiradium has been exploiting this discovery to their advantage. There is another partner company called 'I-Data' that is the front for their little data auction operation."

"Yes, well the bad thing is that I got caught looking around an 'off-limits' area of the lab one night."

"What do you mean, 'got caught'?"

"I was discovered, surprised by someone who gave me an injection. When I woke up I found myself in some sort of makeshift private prison. My last ditch effort before they got to me was to send you that e-mail message. Now I wish that I didn't send it."

"Well, if you 'got caught', how is it you came to be here?" she asked, rather nervously looking around.

"Let's say they made me an offer I couldn't refuse..."

"You mean money?"

"That and my life. Then they sweetened the deal by throwing in your life too"

She stood there as the anger boiled up inside of her. She even began to shake. She was so mad she could hardly look at him – her eyes refused to stay focused. In one swift spontaneous movement, she stepped up to him and swung. Chris wasn't a man of big stature, but Mara's blow was not able to inflict any serious damage. She stood on her tip-toes and shrieked, "They killed our Mother you stupid, selfish moron!"

Another voice, one she couldn't quite place, came from behind and surprised her again.

"That's enough of that, now."

She spun around, her face still a mask of rage to face the unwelcome visitor. He was vaguely familiar. She struggled to recognize him, but became quickly frustrated. "Who are you and what do you want!" She demanded.

"Oh, I don't think you're in a position to be calling the shots here. Sorry if you were hoping for a happy family reunion, but sadly, your brother is one of us."

The realization simply dumbfounded her. She had expected to meet the enemy, but not for the enemy to be Chris. She felt like she was losing her balance and had to take a step to regain her composure. She turned back to Chris, "How could you!" she hissed.

The unidentified man spoke again, "You have caused us a great deal of pain, young lady. A lot of money too I might add. A real threat to the business."

She realized the man was indeed the same man that was recorded earlier in their little botched surveillance escapade. It was his voice on the recording she had in her possession. It was Damian Sanders, apparently Mr. Danver's chief partner.

Chris spoke again, "Listen, Mara. The only way out of this is to come with us. Join us. At first, I was reluctant, but then it turned out to be the only way."

"Oh, I don't think she'll be joining us. Not with this high spirited attitude of hers," Damian said before Mara could reply. Another man stepped out from behind the gray transmitter building. Another one of Damian's 'security' force steadily holding a gun aimed directly at Mara. 'Good grief, how did all these people get here?' she wondered.

Chris began to plead with Damian, "No, wait, you have to give her a chance! You said you would!"

"Sorry, she already knows too much. Who knows who else she might have told. We need to end this little charade before even more people get involved. We don't need to get the police to start looking where they ought not again."

Mara wondered, 'what did he mean by "again"'. The only police that she got involved was Dell. Is that who he was referring to?

"What did you do with him?" Mara insisted.

"You mean that cop friend of yours? He'll recover, that is unless he sticks his nose where it doesn't belong again."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Dell was not on their side, but Chris was?

After a second of quick thinking, Mara spoke up again, "Wait just a minute. Already too many people know about your little operation. We made a recording last night of you talking with Bob Danvers. We know he is involved and probably is the foundation of your venture. Plus the one with the deep bank account no doubt. We went to the media and documented your information auction "business" along with the murder and kidnapping activities. When this hits the news, there's not much you can do. You'll go down – eventually. The public will want to know if their data is open for compromise."

"The public will want to know..." he whined in imitation of her. "I don't believe there's a recording!" He spat. "We were there remember? We confiscated your little van of goodies and gadgets. No recording! You don't have squat!"

"But you didn't get me and I had the recording."

Damian nodded to the man with the gun and he approached from behind and jerked the purse off her shoulder. He rudely emptied the contents in the dust and kicked them around a bit. There wasn't much. Including no media card with a recording on it.

"There doesn't seem to be a recording, now does there?"

"Do you think I would be stupid enough to bring it here? The story and the recording are safe for now. The only way they will stay safe is to release me and leave me alone. I don't care about your stupid greedy money making! Just leave me alone!"

"Sorry, it's too late for that."

Mara became terrified. Standing next to her own brother, she figured this was it. She couldn't believe that he betrayed her. She was so mad and so scared at the same time. Chris spoke up, "You can't just shoot her here!"

"Why not?" Damian replied.

"Let me talk with her a minute." Without waiting, he went on, "Mara, you've got to listen to me, these guys mean business. If you don't cooperate, there's nothing I can do."

"You're a good one to talk about cooperation. Look what you've done. First you own mother, now me, you rotten, good for nothing... Pig!"

Damian interrupted their debate. "Please, children, I can't have you going on like this." He again made a motion toward the man covering them with the gun. He raised the weapon to fire at Mara's small defenseless figure.

Chris screamed "NO!" and attempted to jump in between the shooter and Mara as the gun shot penetrated the howl of the wind. The force of the shot flipped Chris around and propelled him backward a bit and he landed hard among the low rocks below the driveway. He lay there desperately clutching his shoulder and moaning through clenched teeth, obviously in a lot of pain. Everyone stood riveted to the scene, momentarily captured by the sudden brutality and seriousness of the occasion. Now that he had a clear view of Mara, the shooter raised his gun once more.

Mara thought she was going to wet herself. Another shot rang out and she let out a little involuntary squeak of fear. It was the shooter that went down. It was all happening so fast, Mara was confused. 'What just happened' she thought. She stood unharmed. She looked around trying to make sense of it and saw Dell Taylor standing there, still smoking gun in hand raised and aimed at Damian.

"Well, well, the warrior returns," sneered Damian. How was your hospital stay, officer Taylor? Or should I say Inspector?"

"Not as long as yours will be," huffed Dell. He appeared to be quite winded and realized the sound of the first shot probably brought him running and now he was out of breath trying to regain his wind. "You seem awful confident for a man with a gun pointed at your head."

"I have every reason to be," Damian replied loudly enough to be heard over a particularly strong gust of wind.

Just then, automatic gunfire erupted from the woods above and to the right of Dell. "Get DOWN!" he screamed to Mara. She landed hard and rolled to the right among some low, painful rock outcroppings beyond the edge of the stone driveway. They didn't offer her much protection and the bullets spayed in her direction chipped painful bits of stone against her.

There was more gunfire and then Dell landed in sort of an awkward, acrobatic roll practically on top of her. He came up tight alongside and wrapped his arm around her mid-section. He yanked her firmly toward him and together they slid down-slope a bit more among some bigger rocks. She felt the sharp stone tear into her hands and legs. Eventually they found temporary cover and he used the opportunity to help her scurry forward toward the gray metal transmitter building.

Finally, they had the building between them and the woods above and were safe for the moment.

Gasping for breath with her heart beating its' way out of her chest she exclaimed, "I... I thought you were one of them!"

"Shhh, I know. I know," he soothed.

"I thought..." she began, but found her lips covered with his. Momentarily shocked, but then... she began to feel weeks of tension drain away to be replaced with... relief. She responded eagerly by wrapping her arms tightly around him... which made him wrench in an involuntary spasm of pain. She immediately released him and looked puzzled.

"You're hit!"

"No, no.. it's from the other day. A stab wound. Your friends tried doing me in and I spent a bit of time in the hospital."

More relief. She realized for certain that he had been on her side all along. The release brought tears of delight. She felt sorry for him. She felt sorry for herself. The tears came in buckets.

"We're not quite out of this yet." He soothed. "We still have to make it back to the road."

"What about Damian Sanders?"

"Forget him for now. We know who he is. We have to get out of here and get help. Then we will bring Mr. Sanders and his group down – including even... Mr. Danvers."

"You know about him?"

"I ran into a nice Lady that runs the local newspaper. At first, she was convinced I was one of the bad guys. If I hadn't been the police, she would have called them. Once I persuaded her to believe the idea that I wasn't one of the bad guys, she told be where to find you and about Bob Danvers."

They sat huddled and looked at each other in the gray wind. Suddenly Mara's hand flew to her mouth as she said, "Omigosh! Chris! We have to get him down off this hill!"

"On the drive out here, I called in some local reinforcements. We should have help soon. We will need to call for an ambulance, but when I raced from the car to get up here, I left the cell phone plugged into the charger in the car down on the road."

Mara sat worried about Chris' condition. It was hard to believe that moments ago, he stood trying to talk her into betraying everything – her very integrity – and now she hoped that he would be OK. That he didn't get hit again during the burst of automatic gunfire. Then she remembered the phone Rae had made her put into her pocket. She pulled it out and handed it over to Dell who was stealing a glance around the corner of the building to see if it were safe to emerge and go to Chris' aid.

He started to dial emergency when he thought he heard snatches of voices amid the gusts of wind. Then he unmistakably saw the occasional sweep of a carried flashlight as a couple of local police appeared over the final rise of the driveway. His call went through and he gave directions for the ambulance.

When he was through, he and Mara joined the two officers who were surveying the scene with guns drawn when they saw the bodies down. After some initial confusion and Dell showed his Bedford Police identification, Dell explained that he was the one who had called them and that he had already called for an ambulance.

Dell turned to Mara and said, "Rae at the newspaper office said you had some sort of evidence. What did you do with it?"

"The quickest thing I could think of to keep it safe and in control. I mailed it."

"Mailed it? To who?"

"My mother. Or at least her address anyway. It should be there in a couple of days. I didn't want to carry it around and I didn't know where to stash it, so, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

Epilogue

There was a lot to do. As they rode in the silence back to Ashbury again it gave Mara a little time to do nothing for a while. Everybody wanted the digital recording. Only She and Dell knew where it was and neither of them would say exactly except that Mara did indeed have evidence.

Chris ended up getting transported to a Boston hospital that had better orthopedic specialist to reconstruct his damaged shoulder. He was expected to eventually make a full recovery.

He denied all wrongdoing and responsibility for any of the events that had happened during the past couple of weeks. He claimed that he acted in the only way he could to survive and that his attempt to coerce Mara was the only way he felt he could insure her survival. Mara figured that the courts and the investigators would figure it all out eventually.

She had to handle the arrangements for her mother's funeral. With so much happening, she didn't really have time to let it sink in yet that her mother was gone. It seemed like once this was all over, she would be able to go to mom and talk about the whole bad business like it was an old story. But in reality, that was never going to happen.

The story did hit the paper as Rae had promised, and, yes, the Washington Post no less. Mara was not only wanted by just about every major investigative body in law enforcement, she was also an instant celebrity. It was not fun at all. She was even approached face to face by a personal injury attorney that promised her millions of dollars in settlement from Viiradium for the wrongful death of her mother and violent treatment of Mara. There would be time for all that soon enough, but not right now.

Through the strain of it all, Dell was there. He supported her, stood by her and helped her face the issues. They even got to go back to her apartment where she actually got a real shower and a good change of clothes. Her own winter jacket, little things that she had been denied. A good tooth brushing in her own bathroom. She still didn't have a car though. Dell offered her his little sports car, but it's tangibility was too unpleasant to deal with at the moment. The thought of the car actually made her feel anxious.

They pulled into the gravel driveway and Mara go out of the car. In a moment, she returned with a small pile of envelopes and sat down heavily as she swung the door of the car shut.

"Did you get it?" asked Dell.

She pulled a small, padded manila envelope from the stack and held it up so he could see. "Yep, right here."

He turned the car around and drove toward town for something to eat before returning to the city. Practically everybody wanted to get hold of that little envelope. Dell planned to copy the data into his computer at the Bedford station before handing it over to government authorities. He didn't want anything to happen to the conversation contained in that little memory card.

Once they had turned it in, Dell and Mara planned to go out to the cape for a couple of days. Dell had already made arrangements for them to stay at a friend's place with an ocean view that was vacant during the winter.

As they drove off, Dell switched on the radio, scanned to a station and caught the news broadcast already in progress.

"Technologists and government authorities from 14 countries around the world along with the international Computer Emergency Response Team (CERT) are planning an emergency meeting in Washington later this week to address concern over the recent discovery of what some analysts are calling the worst computer nightmare ever. A story that first appeared two days ago in the Washington Post claims that Viiradium corporation, a long time trusted manufacturer of computer encryption and security software, has been secretly exploiting a method to steal and later decode information made secure by standard encryption techniques used by ninety percent of the world's secure electronic transactions. Yesterday on Wall Street, Viiradium's stock plunge sent trading rumbles through the major stock indices with most technology stocks ending sharply lower. It is expected that Viiradium stock trading will be suspended pending the outcome of the investigation. Dr. Herbert Robyns of CERT says that other encryption techniques do exist, however..."

Mara and Dell glanced at each other and with a cynical grin, Mara reached up and switched off the radio.

###

About the author:

JM Addison is a practiced technology consultant specializing in information security. He writes part time, but dreams of quitting the computer industry and devoting full attention to writing.

Connect with Me Online:

http://www.untamedserenity.com

