Dire Means (46 page)

He pressed the pedestrian crossing button repeatedly—willing it to hurry. At a break in traffic, he ran for it, not waiting for the crossing signal. On the other side he slowed to a jog to pace himself for the three block journey to Jim Kourokina’s house. He wasn’t worried about Jim being home. Jim was always home.

At the front door Mark rang the bell and pounded three times, sending Jim’s dogs, Walkie and Talkie, into a barking fit inside. He leaned on his knees to catch his breath from his jog. He waited ten seconds and pounded again. The dogs had reached the door, yapping and jumping against it. He heard footsteps and Jim’s voice saying, “Alright, alright.”

Jim cracked the door two inches, “What?” Walkie and Talkie stopped their barking and whined with excitement to get to Mark. Jim looked down at them and said, “That’s odd.”

“Let me in, it’s Mark.”

“Mark who?”

“Mark Denny. I need your help, now open up—I only have a few minutes to talk.” Mark pushed the door open and Jim stepped back. Walkie and Talkie jumped up on Mark and he squatted to pet them. The trust and innocent joy of the dogs was refreshing and it momentarily calmed Mark. The dogs licked his neck and jumped against him on their hind legs.

“Whoa!” Jim said. He took Mark’s arm and tried to turn him for a better look. “Talk about extreme makeover! Dude, you are all over the news. I hope you aren’t looking to hide here—you’ll get us both arrested. I thought you might have fled the country.”

“Thanks for your support, friend.” The dogs began to bark again when Mark stood and diverted his attention from them and Jim shushed them. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the back of the house and the dogs scurried out of sight.

“I was abducted like the others, but they aren’t going to kill me—at least they said they wouldn’t for the time being,” Mark said.

“Who’s doing it? Tell me—I want that reward. How did you escape?”

“Hold on—I haven’t escaped. It’s a long story. Listen, I don’t have time to tell you everything right now. I need your help.”

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” Jim said, leaning to look toward his front door as if someone might bust through at any moment. “If the police are following you then you need to get out of here now because I don’t want to be involved.”

“The police have no idea I’m here. I’ll tell you more if you’ll shut up for a minute.”

Jim’s reaction surprised Mark. He would have expected Jim to be fascinated with the details and process of his abduction and transformation. Instead, Jim was more terrified of criminal contagion.

“So who took you? Are you helping them now?”

“No, I’m buying time. I’m not a murderer,” Mark said.

Jim shook his head with a forced smile as if to say,
“Of course not
.” “Where have you been? How did you get wrapped up in this?”

“The people responsible for the killings got to me and are forcing me to join them.”

“People? So there is more than one?”

“Yes, and they are not prone to mistakes.”

“Are they starving you? You look fine.”

“No, and they don’t want to kill me—yet.”

“I’ve always been good to the homeless,” Jim said as he took a step back from Mark.

“Would you shut up for a minute and let me tell you what I need? We don’t have much time. I’ve brought you something that will blow your mind.”

“You already pretty much did that. Listen, you’ve been a good friend and I’m not looking to turn you in, but I don’t want any part of what you’re into.” Jim motioned toward the door for Mark to leave.

“I want you to re-engineer TellTale.”

Jim froze and stifled a grin. A year earlier, after a brief demonstration of the device Carlos had developed, Jim had longed to get his hands on one. He hadn’t been privy to any details of the TellTale before Carlos died. Carlos didn’t trust him and wanted to patent the technology before releasing the device for anyone’s examination—especially Jim Kourokina.

Jim went to the window and parted the curtains an inch to peek outside. “Are they watching us?”

“No, I’ve arranged a few moments of privacy to talk to you—very few moments,” Mark said. He pulled the book containing the TellTale from his pocket and handed it over.

Jim opened the book cover and popped out the inner box of circuitry, examining it. “Nice,” he said. “I knew it had to be Flash technology. Very clever. But it’s dated.”

“I’m glad you noticed; so then it won’t be a problem to fit the newer Flash technology into this pen?” Mark tossed Jim one of Pop’s red ballpoint pens.

“What? You gotta be crazy,” Jim said as he examined the pen. “Why do you need it in the pen? People are dying. Why don’t you just turn these people in?”

“The leader will immediately kill many of the captives if I do. I don’t have time to explain all this to you.”

“Well, what are you trying to do?”

“I want to tap the mastermind’s computer to monitor him. He controls his entire operation on it.”

“I thought they brought you here.”

“I found a traitor. She wants out. She’s helping me.”

“Wow, you are in deep, aren’t you? I still don’t know why you need it in a pen.”

“Because the killer doesn’t have any books in his office—only pens and some paper. A pen is the only option.”

“Even not having had a close look at it, I’d say it is impossible to fit your TellTale circuitry into a pen without a complete rebuild.”

“That’s why I came to you.”

Jim took a closer look at the TellTale components and sucked his teeth. He shook his head slowly and looked daunted. “NAND Flash technology will eliminate this clunky data bus circuitry. The biggest challenge will be power.”

“Try this on and see how it fits.” Mark pulled out two strings of the batteries Morana had given him from the ALCO building office.

“Are these lithium polymer power cells?”

Mark nodded.

“I’ve read about these, but haven’t seen them yet. What is its voltage output capacity?”

Mark shrugged. “I can’t help you there. But I have a feeling you’ll know in about a half-hour. That’s why I brought you three of them.”

Jim laughed nervously and said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, I’m not. And there’s one other thing.”

“What? It has to make coffee?”

“No, I have to be able to distinguish it from a penholder full of identical pens.”

“That’s easy.”

“How?”

“Magnets.”

“Brilliant.”

“I know.”

Jim turned and walked back toward his office and motioned for Mark to follow. The dogs reappeared and began barking and jumping on Mark again. Jim opened his back door and whistled. Walkie and Talkie darted out into the back yard.

“Give me some tinker-time on it. When do you need it?”

“Tomorrow, this same time.”

“Hell no. Impossible,” Jim said. He handed the TellTale and pen back to Mark. “That’s too steep of an order. I’m not getting wrapped up in this—no way, no how.”

Mark shoved it back into his hands. “You’ve got to help, man. Please try. This isn’t just for me, it’s for the future victims and their families. I have about three more minutes to get your agreement and then I have to run—literally.”

Jim’s phone beeped. As he pulled it from his pocket he said, “If I don’t cooperate, what? Are they going to kill me too?” Pressed a button on a phone and read the screen. His face lost its color.

“What? What’s wrong?” Mark said, approaching him.

Jim grabbed the front of Mark’s shirt with both hands, shoved him against the wall, and yelled, “You blackmail me, you bastard? You ask for my help and then threaten me?”

“What are you talking about?” Mark said.

Jim gave Mark his phone and then crossed the room to his cluttered work bench, sat and buried his face in his hands.

Mark read the email message on Jim’s phone. It read, “Dear Mr. Kourokina, We encourage you to be of service to Mark Denny and the following souls…” Below that was a list of twenty names, addresses, social security numbers, and occupations of what appeared to be Jim Kourokina’s family members. Below them, larger lettering read, “Sensitive Data. Sent in the spirit of concern for the well-being of others.”

“Morana,” Mark mouthed. “I didn’t send this,” he told Jim.

Jim didn’t answer. He stared at the TellTale in his hand. “You should leave so I can get to work,” he said.

“I’m sorry to have brought you into this, Jim. You are the only person I know who could pull this off and I have complete faith in you.”

“Forgive me if your flattery doesn’t give me a warm feeling about you right now. I’m a little distracted. I need some time to think.” Jim pointed to the door.

As they walked through the electronics clutter that lined the path to the door, Mark said, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve gotten you involved in my predicament and I understand why you’re pissed off. I came here honestly thinking you’d have a choice. But now you’re in it. And if you refuse to help, you will disappear and not one of your high-tech gadgets will warn you, nor will any of them be able to track you. That is a fact. These people are technologically sophisticated and, so far, flawless.”

Jim’s face was still pale. “Show up tomorrow and I’ll hand over my best attempt,” he said.

Outside Jim’s front door, Mark scanned the street. He knew that Morana, who had driven the truck out of sight southbound on Lincoln Boulevard, would not risk losing him, so someone in the vicinity had to be watching—somehow.

Mark spotted a plumbing truck parked across the street. The driver stood outside winding a hose into the open door of a body cabinet on the side of the truck. He looked over at Mark, nodded, and then returned to the task of packing his hose.

Making her way up the sidewalk to his left, a woman wearing khaki shorts, a sun hat, and pushing a denim covered baby stroller approached him about a block away. She studied Mark as she passed him. But who wouldn’t? The entire city was still on edge and Mark was a stranger in this neighborhood.

A blue Buick sedan backed out of a driveway three doors away from Jim’s house. The driver stopped the car with its rear extended into the street. Mark hadn’t seen if the car had exited a garage. If it hadn’t, then any of Pop’s people could have parked in any of the street’s driveways to keep watch on Mark during his visit with Jim.

He saw Jim’s living room drapes part enough for an eye to peer through. He only had two minutes to rendezvous at his pickup corner so he began his jog back.

By the time he reached the intersection, he was out of breath and hot. Morana had the truck parked beside the road and the passenger window was down. Mark thrust his torso through the window and climbed inside. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve, taking off a bit of makeup.

Morana put her thumb up and then down, asking for confirmation of his success with Jim Kourokina. Mark glared at her while he panted. They hadn’t discussed the threatening email she had sent to Jim. Mark thought he could persuade Jim to cooperate without forcing him. Mark knew that what Morana had done would work, but Mark still resented it. He showed her a weak thumbs-up sign as he worked to put his suit back on.

Their truck reentered traffic, bound for the Nest.

§

Mark turned on the radio and pressed the pre-programmed buttons to find a heavy metal station. He turned the volume up loud and then looked for Morana to signal that it was safe to talk. She shook her head slightly and pinched her collar in several places. While Pop may not have been actively listening to them at that moment, the risk was too great.

Morana turned off the radio and they rode in silence, concentrating on their plan and mentally rehearsing. More than once, they exchanged forced smiles that masked their anxiety as they neared the Nest.

They pulled into the garage. The floor opened and the truck began to sink into the Nest’s subterranean garage. When the wheels touched down, they hurried to get out. When they entered the foyer Pop stood inside, waiting for them.

“Looks like you owe me quite a report,” he said to Morana. His face was stern and he locked his eyes on hers.

“Yes, I do. And I have one,” she said.

Fear gripped Mark and he wondered if his makeup would hide it.

“So what have you been up to?” Pop said.

“We saw
The Mullesville Torts
. It was good,” she said.

“Mark, leave us,” Pop said, pointing to the foyer door that led into the Nest. “Please go to your suite and find a gift we’ve left in there for you.”

Mark left Morana. Her face wore an expression he hadn’t seen on her yet: terror.

He placed his hand on his suite’s console and the door clicked. He pushed it open and froze at what he saw. Janne Prophet sat on the sofa in his den.

“Janne!” he said.

“Excuse me, have we met?” she said as she stood up.

“Janne, it’s Mark—I’m in disguise.”

She hollered, “Mark!” and ran to him. “What is going on?” she said. “Why are we here? And why do you look this way?”