The Winning Element (8 page)
As my computer continued copying, I started processing batches of the data through various decryption programs. I tried a standard alpha-numerical package first, then a beta platform. I ran it through a transcendental process, and slowly the encrypted data became readable.
“Here we go.” Suddenly, a thought hit me. “Wait. If this is everything, then we have him. We have evidence. He can be arrested as soon as right now.”
The screen stopped scrolling. David reached to my right, and, using my mouse, he clicked through the decrypted files, opening random ones and quickly scanning them. “What we have, essentially, is a journal. Yes, it chronicles everything he’s had his fingers in, but TL will tell you Eduardo has to be caught in the act.”
David let go of my mouse. “So we need to figure out where he’s going to be next.”
While I continued to click away with the files, weaving through Eduardo’s hard drive, David resumed his seat. He flipped a page in the case file and continued studying.
“Barracuda Key,” I announced, looking at a satellite map of Florida that popped up on the screen. “It’s one of many tiny islands trailing off the southern tip of Florida.”
David rolled his eyes up from the file. “Do you realize I’ve read exactly one and a half paragraphs?”
I shrugged innocently. “Do you want me to work slower?”
He sighed through a smile. “No, of course not. Sometimes I forget what a genius you are.” He closed the file. “Barracuda Key?”
I nodded.
“What’s going on in Barracuda Key?”
I started searching his journal again. “Let me see”—
click, click, click—
“Huh”—
click, click, click—
“Oh my God”—
click, click, click . . .
click, click, click—
“Huh”—
click, click, click—
“Oh my God”—
click, click, click . . .
David rolled his chair over. “What?”
“He’s not just smuggling in chemicals.” A few more clicks. “According to this, people are actually going to Barracuda Key to get these chemicals and make their own bombs on site. Then they’ll be shipped out from there.” I rubbed a tight muscle in my neck. “So what’s next?”
“Find out when he’s going to be in Barracuda Key.”
Click, click, click . . .
“In four weeks.”
“In four weeks.”
“Where’s he staying?”
“Give me a minute.” I pulled up all the hotels in Barracuda Key and hacked into their systems, cross-referencing phrases in Eduardo’s journal. “From what I’ve been able to gather, the Hotel Marquess.”
David rolled his chair closer to see my screen. “Now bring up every tourist function and event going on in Barracuda Key, Florida. Preferably at the same hotel. We have to find your cover. You can’t just show up as a vacationer. You have to blend in with a group. We need to have a reason for you being there.”
“Makes sense. Let’s see . . .” I went to the tourist Web site for Barracuda Key island and began searching. “Boy Scout Jamboree?”
David shook his head. “Won’t work with Beaker. It’d work if TL wanted one of the guys to go.”
“Why
is
Beaker”—I tried not to cringe as I said her name— “going?”
is
Beaker”—I tried not to cringe as I said her name— “going?”
“I thought that was pretty obvious with the chemicals involved. ” David’s eyes crinkled. “My other guess is because you two don’t like each other, and everyone knows it. This is TL’s way of making you two get along.”
“Beaker doesn’t like anyone,” I defended myself. “It’s not about me not liking her. I like her all right.” Who was I kidding?
“Mmm-hmm. Right.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Back on track.” David pointed to the screen. “What else?”
Click, click, click . . .
“Elderly lawn bowling tournament?”
“Elderly lawn bowling tournament?”
“No. Let me see.” He took my mouse and scrolled through Barracuda Key’s Web site and upcoming events.
“Heeeyyy,” Chapling yawned, stumbling out from behind the metal cabinets.
I smiled, seeing his red, Brillo pad hair lying in clumps, some flat to his head, others sticking straight out. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
He yawned again on a stretch, reaching his stubby arms toward the ceiling. His T-shirt rode up over his pale, pudgy stomach. He blinked a few times and yawned once more. “One of you two kids made coffee.” He inhaled loudly. “I smell it.”
While David continued clicking through the Web site, Chapling poured a cup and wandered over.
He took a sip. “Little weak.”
I gave him a sympathetic look. “David made it.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
David shot him a playful glare.
Chapling took another sip. “TL says we’ll be hacking into Eduardo Villanueva’s computer today.”
“I already did.”
He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Let me get a little more java in me and we’ll— Wait . . . what’d you say?”
I lifted my brows. “Already did it.”
He sighed. “Why do I come to work anymore?”
I didn’t bother reminding him he never left work.
He circled around me and climbed up onto his chair. “Smartgirlsmartgirl. Course, with a little bit of time,” Chapling muttered, “I would’ve figured out how to hack in, too.”
“Of course,” I agreed. Chapling was, hands down, the most intelligent person I knew. I’d learned a lot from him.
“Got it.” David stood up. He pointed to my computer. “I found yours and Beaker’s cover.”
I narrowed in on the screen, and my eyes widened. “Uh-uh. Forget it. There’s no
way
I’m doing that. There’s no way
Beaker
would do that. You’ve got to be crazy. No.” I shook my head. “No. No. No. No. No.”
way
I’m doing that. There’s no way
Beaker
would do that. You’ve got to be crazy. No.” I shook my head. “No. No. No. No. No.”
[4]
After an hour of David’s trying to convince me this cover would work, reluctantly—let me repeat that—reluctantly, I went with his idea. But I was seriously dreading presenting it to Beaker tomorrow morning.
Putting that aside, David and I spent the rest of the day designing the Barracuda Key mission. He taught me how to view everything omnisciently and then step into the mission and go through the different scenarios we might encounter.
The entire process was incredibly involved, detailed, and organized. It amazed me that TL went through this every single time. But that was his job as the strategist, in charge of planning and implementing the missions, as well as keeping all of us Specialists in line. A lot of pressure came with designing a mission. If something went wrong, then all the blame fell on the strategist’s shoulders. In this case, that would be me.
Frankly, the whole process wore me out. And made me admire TL even more.
It was late when we finally finished putting together the mission. Then I practiced presenting it over and over again while David watched and gave input.
Now it was early morning, and here I sat in the conference room. David was across from me, calmly waiting on TL’s arrival.
Beside me, Beaker slumped in her chair, chomping on yet another piece of gum. “Don’t know why you can’t just tell me why I’m here.”
I studied her ever-present sour profile while she scowled at the wall behind David. She was going to be
so
PO’ed when she found out our cover.
so
PO’ed when she found out our cover.
“What are you”—
chew, snap, chew
—“staring at?”
chew, snap, chew
—“staring at?”
How beautiful you are,
I wanted to snide, but instead asked, “Why do you chew so much gum? It’s not good for your jaws, you know.”
I wanted to snide, but instead asked, “Why do you chew so much gum? It’s not good for your jaws, you know.”
She slid me a sideways smirk. “Anything else, O Gifted One?”
My nostrils flared. I couldn’t recall ever having that reaction to anyone before. Then again, Beaker brought out the worst in me.
The door opened, and we turned to see TL step in.
He nodded. “Good morning. Glad to see everyone’s prompt.” He took his seat at the head of the table and placed a small, thin box in front of him.
I recognized it. It held the monitoring patches we were each given months ago when we first arrived. The patches allowed TL to track us, to know where we were at all times, and to monitor our conversations. But when he felt confident we’d settled into our new lives, he took them away.
He’d taken mine right before the Ushbanian mission, and he’d taken Wirenut’s before Rissala. Which meant TL was probably about to take Beaker’s.
“Beaker, you have proved adept at your cover. You’ve learned how to go throughout your day-to-day activities smoothly, naturally, and without a second thought. You’ve seamlessly merged into this new world.”
TL had said the same thing to Wirenut and me, too.
“It’s time for you to take off your patch.” TL removed the lid and slid the box toward Beaker. “Place it in here, please.”
For a few seconds, Beaker stared at TL and didn’t move. Didn’t even chomp her gum.
She moved her eyes off TL to me and then over to David. I’d never seen her so vulnerable, so full of disbelief, so . . . stunned. I had the unnerving urge to hug her or something.
Gradually, she resumed her gum chomping and pushed away from the table. She leaned over, pulled her baggy pant leg up, and, from the underside of her knee, peeled away the bandage looking device.
She dropped it in the box and slid it back toward TL.
He nodded. “Congratulations.”
Beaker lips curved. “Thanks.”
He got up and opened the door. “You three come with me.”
Filing out behind him, we followed TL around the glass-paneled, high-tech workroom and down the hall with all the locked doors.
I’d bet my next lollipop TL was about to show Beaker her personalized workroom. He’d given me access to the computer lab after taking my patch, and he’d given Wirenut access to the electronics warehouse after taking his.
If history repeated itself, Beaker was about to get the surprise of her life.
At the end of the long hall, we stopped at a steel door that had a large hole in the center.
TL turned to Beaker. “This is your room. You can come and go anytime you want, unless you’re expected to be somewhere else. No one has access to this room but myself, you, Chapling, and David.”
“Why Chapling?” I asked.
“Chapling has access to everything. He monitors the whole ranch.” TL pointed to the hole. “Beaker, insert your hand as a fist. When you’re inside, spread your fingers as wide as they’ll go. You’ll feel a flash of ice and then immediate warmth. It will not hurt. Make sure you
don’t
flinch.”
don’t
flinch.”
“Ice and then warmth? That’s blumeth and parabendichlor.” Beaker put her fist in the hole. “You’re chemically reading all five of my prints.”
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