Song of the Red-Legged Birds: Chapter 34, Part 1: Sometimes you’re the windshield
Ira invites himself inside
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With gratitude, Bill
Last week, in chapter 33, Part 2, Holly got a terrifying message from her mother.
Chapter 34, Part 1: Sometimes you’re the windshield
Ira ditched the cable truck for a nondescript light blue hunk of junk and rolled into Portsmouth about an hour after leaving the apartment building. It had been years since he’d been up this way, so he decided to get a coffee downtown before heading to work. He parked the car and gave it a disgusted look. “Who buys a light blue car?”
He bought a coffee and strolled the streets. Years ago, the downtown area thrived with curious little shops that sold trinkets and keepsakes. Now it was a ghost town. Ira stopped to peer through one of the dust-covered windows. ‘Closed, thank you for 25 wonderful years!’ read a sign with chewed edges that had fallen to the floor. He turned with a sigh and walked further. The smell of the ocean was barely discernable. A tugboat let out a blast in the distance, confirming its existence.
He’d walked this street before, holding hands with May—an impossible number of days ago. Ira squinted and tried to conjure her back onto the sidewalk. Her simple summer shift, chestnut hair fired by the sun. She carried her flip-flops in one hand and clutched his arm in her other. May had a laugh that owned him. Them on Hampton Beach long after sunset, after the stores had closed. Huddled close together in the sand, listening to the waves sing as they kissed under secret stars.
Where was she now? How is it possible to lose a person?
He stumbled off the curb and back into reality.
“Tighten up,” he mumbled, mashed the paper cup in his fist, and tossed it into a trash can. “You’re on the clock,” he said and turned back for the car.
Diane Johnson had a small house outside of downtown Portsmouth. It sat off what you could call a main road, with enough room for privacy trees but not so many that it would keep you from bumping into other residents. Ira drove the winding street past the place twice without slowing down. The first time he noticed a single car in the driveway, it matched the one registered to her. The second time he saw a light on in the front room.
Portsmouth still got its share of tourists who came through on their way up the coast and into Maine. A fair number of those tourists would get turned around on their way to a random beach in Kittery and stop to ask for directions. Internet connections were always spotty in this part of New England. Tourists learned fast that they couldn’t rely on GPS.
Ira parked in Diane’s driveway, pulling in with all the slowness and intent of being seen. In his preparations for today, he discovered she had some techie experience. Knowing that she also lived alone, he was sure the property had security cameras.
“Bingo,” he said, as there was a visible camera attached to the house and focused on the driveway. He left the car running and lights on while making a show of opening and fumbling with a map. When he felt sure she must have seen him, he exited the car and approached the house.
The porch light flickered on as he walked carrying the map.
Diane Johnson opened the screen door with a smile and said, “Hello there, are you lost?”
She had a blue button-down shirt over black leggings and what looked like fresh flowers twisted into her long silver hair.
“Yes! Sorry to pull into your driveway!” He said as he approached with a few loping strides and a painted smile.
Diane stood holding the door open; her eyes narrowed as she looked him over.
He put a foot on the first step, just enough to block the door. He could almost see her insides recoil, noticing the intrusion.
“Where yah headed?” She locked onto his eyes.
Ira fumbled with the map, “Ah, Kev’s Clam Stand. Supposed to meet some family there twenty minutes ago, but I got all turned around, I think...”
He saw her focus on his mouth when he said family and knew the word sounded wrong. Before she could retreat, he’d tazed her. She dropped to the porch floor in a heap. In seconds he had cast aside the map, put the taser away, and zip-tied her hands behind her back. Then he went back to the car and turned it off.
“Glad you’re a tiny thing. It would be rude of me to leave you on the floor like this. Plus, my back is killing me from driving that shitbox.” He scooped her up and brought her inside the house, kicking the door closed and shutting off the porch light.
Tim, Careen, and Luke waited in the conference room. Desmond had called for a quick meeting, but that was fifteen minutes ago.
Careen put her booted feet up on the faux wood table. “Is he coming or what? I’ve got work to do.”
Tim put down the tea he was sipping. “He’ll be here. I saw him in with Christo; he’s running late.”
Luke was tapping away at his phone.
“What’re you doing there, Luke?” Tim asked.
“Huh? Oh, um, just checking the leaderboards for this first-person shooter I play.”
“Oh, that one where you can pretend to be a hero at Chula Vista?” Tim scoffed and glanced at Careen.
Luke brightened, “Yeah! It’s called FlakFest 3084; it’s really very cool. And there’s this new mod coming out for it today where you…”
Careen interrupted, “Stop, Luke; he doesn’t care.”
“Oh,” Luke said with a blank expression, scratching his cheek.
“Sorry, buddy. I never understood the appeal of war games. But I’m glad you have interests outside of work.”
“And remind me, Tim, what is it that you do for fun again?” Careen said, close to bursting.
“You think I should be ashamed of it, don’t you? Well, I’m not. I’m in a barbershop quartet called ‘Highway to the Danger Tones.’ Luke, you should come to hear us perform sometime.”
“Is that like, old-timey singing?” Luke said with hesitation.
“Well, not exactly,” Tim answered.
“He’s not wrong,” Careen chided.
“Fine. Yes, it’s an older singing style, an art form, to be sure. But we put our unique spin on it and make it fun.”
“Do you now? You make it fun, huh?” Careen’s smile was so broad her face could crack.
Tim’s neck started to turn red.
Desmond burst through the door looking harried. “Sorry guys had to talk to Christo first. Careen, could you please not put your feet up on the table.”
“Sure, Des, as soon as you stop referring to us as guys.”
He tilted his head and stared at her.
“Okay, okay,” she put her feet back on the floor.
“What’s going on with you?” he asked Tim, who still looked flustered.
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
Desmond turned to face Luke, who was staring at his phone. He interlaced his fingers, leaned forward, sighed, and cleared his throat.
Luke jumped out of his fog and dropped the phone.
Desmond sat down heavily. “Let’s make this short. Regardless of how it was done, you’ve all made great headway on the grid. There will be time to talk about how that all happened another day. We’ve got a new priority.”
Tim leaned forward. The room was silent except for cool air whistling through ductwork.
“I know you’ve all heard of the coder, the self-described Discoder that goes by the name of The Guy.”
Careen flipped her hair to the side, “Sure, who hasn’t? He’s supposedly the creator of the Red Foot network.”
“Correct,” Desmond said, “we’ve reason to believe that he’s recently acquired some critical intel that could shed light on the grid issues.”
“What kind of intel?” Tim asked.
“The most important intel are the locations of two people. You’ll find everything you need to know about them in the case file.”
Desmond looked at Careen, who was squinting and staring at him.
“Yes?” he said.
“You want us to find this mystery coder who’s never been seen and, I assume, hack into his network, which is notorious for being unhackable? Then, scrape that network for intel on these two targets?”
“Yup,” he said.
“Okay. I like to be clear when an impossible task is asked of me,” she leaned back in the swivel chair.
“Improbable, not impossible. I have three brilliant minds in this room. Let’s get it done. Luke, I hope you’re not wrung out yet. Ready for this?”
“Yes, Des,” he had a confused look.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just, like, what did these people do? And, uh, what’s going to happen to them?” His eyes searched the room and found that only Careen’s understood him.
“That’s a need-to-know basis question there, Luke,” Desmond said, tapping a fingertip on the table.
Careen rolled her eyes.
Tim looked at Luke and nodded, trying to help him figure it out.
“Because I don’t need to know?” he said tentatively.
“Exactly,” Desmond said. “Look, Luke, I don’t mean to be a prick. There are good reasons to know what you do and not to know what you don’t.”
Tim tried to hold in a laugh.
“That’s funny?” Desmond said to him.
“Not really. That sounded like it could be from this old book I’m reading called Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. It’s a dark comedy, satirical, war fiction thing.”
“Okay…,” he turned back to Luke. “Anyway, when I can tell you more, I will.”
“Thanks, Des,” Luke said.
“Hey man, where are you on the leaderboard on FlakFest? Same?” Desmond strained to remember the name of the game.
Luke brightened. “Still stuck in third place. I need a better graphics card; a faster connection would also be good. You reach a level when you can only do as well as your gear.”
“Maybe we can help with both of those things. Let’s complete this project and then see about getting you a 44-terabit line at home.” Desmond grinned.
“Seriously!” Luke almost jumped from his chair.
Desmond held out his fist, and Luke bumped it.
“Okay, that’s all. Get to it.” Desmond said.
Tim and Luke left first. Careen stopped Desmond. “Nice touch there, Des, but that won’t last forever.”
“And what do you mean by that?” Desmond leaned in the doorway with arms folded.
“The kid, Des. He’s brilliant, but he has a heart and cares about people. He’s young, so something bright and shiny might distract him for a while, but that won’t last forever.”
“You care about him.”
“Of course I do. Don’t you?”
“We’re both adults here, Careen. You know that I care about getting the job done first. I’m not made with a soft spot and all that touchy-feely stuff.”
“Bullshit,” Careen spat, “you clearly do have a soft spot because you used it to manipulate him!”
Desmond narrowed his electric blue eyes, “Careful, Careen. Careful.”
She looked down and sighed, “Just, please be kind to him.” She brushed past his shoulder as if punctuating a sentence and left him in the doorway.
Holly finished telling them all about the texts. They stood frozen except for Takeda, who moved to hug her, but she put up a hand. “Thanks, but no. You talked about following a path, Wake? Well, the new path goes right to my Mom. Fuck the rest of this noise. I’m out of here in thirty seconds. Anyone that wants to come, great.”
“H, I’m coming! You know that, right? Fuck that guy!” Takeda snarled and seemed to be surprised at his change in demeanor.
Wake held up his hands. “Holly, wait, I’m with you on this too. We’re with you, right guys?” he looked at Sheila and Scott.
“Fuckin-a right,” Sheila growled, smashing a fist into his palm.
Scott gave Sheila a sideways glance. “Yeah, what he said. Wake, can you get us anything at all to work with? Hack some cameras? It sounds like we’ll be running in there with nothing blazing and no idea what we’re dealing with.”
Wake sat down and looked at Holly. “Here’s what I propose. The four of you take Sheila’s car and start heading up to your mother’s. I’ll be digging to get you any intel that I can. And I will get something.”
“Sounds good so far,” Holly relaxed a bit.
“I’ve got a couple of decent stun guns. They won’t kill a man, but they’ll drop one like a rock. I made them myself; they look like cell phones. Broken cell phones. Hang on a second.” Wake jogged to his workshop and was back in a minute, a little out of breath. “See?” he held one up.
“Looks like an ancient piece of crap,” Takeda said.
“Exactly, and if you push the power button or plug it in, nothing will happen.” He waited for someone to work with him.
The fuse on Holly’s patience started to burn again, “And how does that help us?” she said in a flat monotone.
“You’re going to have to cross the border into New Hampshire, which means you be subject to search. And you don’t want to get caught bringing weapons across the border, definitely not in New Hampshire. These will look like broken cell phones. Keep them in the glove compartment. Let them be found.”
“Hiding in plain sight again,” Takeda remembered.
“Right on!” Wake smiled. “Watch.” He twisted the phone, which slid into two pieces, then reversed the bottom half and pushed it back together. A tiny high-pitched sound came from the phone, and three little green dots lit up on its edge.
“Now it’s point,” he pointed the phone at the couch, “and shoot.” He pressed a button on the side, and a thin wire shot out, embedding itself in the cushion. “I’m not going to waste a charge, but if you hold onto the button, 50,000 volts will be deposited into your target.”
“Oh, hell yeah!” Scott stamped on the floor. “That’s that James Bond shit, Wake!”
“Word, my friend, word. The gun will recharge on its own, but it takes fifteen minutes, so make your first shot count.” He freed the cable from the couch cushion and pressed a button that retracted the wire. Then he slid the gun apart, reversed the steps to put it back in its original form, and tossed it to Holly.
She looked at it briefly, pocketed it, and said, “Thanks.”
“You’re quite welcome.” He tossed the second gun to Takeda, who fumbled it, and it skittered to the floor. He cringed as if it were a bomb.
“It’s fine. It’s meant to take a beating.” Wake said. “Okay, now I need to get you some new identification cards, and then you can get going. Scott, can you turn on the printer?” He started typing and, after a minute, turned around, taking a moment to choose his next words with care.
“Holly, I don’t mean to trivialize the gravity of this situation. Sometimes my behavior can come off that way. You’re in excellent hands here. I mean that in the literal sense. That young man,” he pointed to the room where Scott had gone, “has a ton of experience in the military. Some dark stuff. He considers himself a bit of a pacifist now and doesn’t touch weapons anymore or even fight if he can avoid it. But, reflexes buried in him after years in the field make him a very dangerous man. Don’t be fooled by his silliness, his Scott-ness. “
Scott came back into the room. Takeda and Holly stared at him.
“Were you talking about me? I feel like you were talking about me. Printers are on, and the cards are running, Wake.”
“Thank you, Scott. And this guy,” he motioned to Sheila, “It’s clear what he brings to the table.”
Sheila flexed a massive arm and smiled with clenched teeth.
“I’ve got button webcams that I’d like you all to wear in addition to a wireless earpiece that transmits and receives. This should make comms easier. I’ve got a hunch that the person with your mother is on his own but be prepared for that not to be the case. I will see if I can answer that question before you arrive.” Wake opened a silver box on the coffee table with a neat row of webcams and earpieces nestled in velvet.
Holly took one of each. She pinned on the camera, looked at Wake, and said, “You know, we came here looking for answers, and I’m leaving with more questions. And now, this asshole is willing to threaten my mother to get to me? What is it that I don’t know I know?”
Wake started to answer, and Holly cut him off.
“You know what? Not now. We get my mom, and then maybe I’ll give a shit about the answer to that question. If you even have one.”
Scott retrieved the freshly printed ID cards and handed them out.
“Here you go, Tony Manero and Stephanie Sandy.”
She looked at her card and said, “I’m sure there’s something cute about these names. Tell me when we get back. Excuse me for a minute, boys.”
Holly went down the hall and into the room they’d stayed in that night. The nightstand had a notepad and a pen on it. She wrote something on a sheet of paper and folded it carefully into her palm.
Next week in Chapter 34, Part 2, “Sometimes you’re the windshield,” The crew tries to make it out of town…