I needed to make sure that both Lien-hua and the device were safe, but I also wanted a way to draw Shade into the open. I figured I could use myself as bait, but not if Lien-hua and I were at the FBI field office or police headquarters. Besides, I still wasn’t exactly sure who to trust.
So after considering my options, I decided it made sense for Lien-hua and me to find a place to rest and regroup for a few hours where we could wait to hear from Ralph about Victor Drake, and also see if Shade would contact me again. After all, I’d invited him to bring it on and I figured he would be more than willing to take me up on the invitation.
So after Lien-hua and I picked up some fast food, we located a beachside hotel on the outskirts of San Diego called the Surfside Inn.
Along with the small suitcases of clothes we each carried, she brought in the food and I toted the laundry bag containing the device.
At the front desk, we checked in under phony names.
“One room?” asked the man behind the counter.
“Yes.” I glanced at Lien-hua and whispered so that only she could hear me, “For security reasons.”
“Oh, I see,” she whispered back. “So you need me to protect you?”
“That’s not exactly what I-” She turned to the man behind the registration counter. “Can we make that a two-room suite?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A few moments later he handed us each a room key, and as I followed her onto the elevator she said, “Security reasons? I’ve never heard that one before.”
“What can I say? I’m a safety-conscious kind of guy.” I heard her mumble something about ulterior motives, and a couple moments later the doors opened and we exited to find room 524.
Once inside the suite, Lien-hua and I took a few minutes to check for intruders or listening devices-you can never be too careful.
Then we sat down to finish supper. “I’m glad Tessa’s not here,” I mumbled, after swallowing a mouthful of cheeseburger. “Sometimes it’s nice to eat something that never had roots or leaves and not feel guilty about it.”
Lien-hua took a sip of her Diet Coke and worked at her chicken Caesar salad while I began summarizing the visit with Dr. Osbourne.
I’m not a fan of briefings, so I tried to make my synopsis as short as possible, but before I could start explaining the connections between the different branches of scientific research, Lien-hua said, “Wait. I’m still confused about how the device ended up at police headquarters. Dunn just happened to kick the car containing it and then ordered that car be taken to impound? Doesn’t that seem a little too convenient?”
“You know, I’ve been wondering the same thing. Let’s check the plates, see who that car belonged to.”
I pulled out my laptop, but Lien-hua touched my arm to stop me. “Are you sure you should be using that? What if Shade’s able to track your computer use?” She removed her hand.
“Not possible,” I said. “Remember CIFER? It’s designed for field operatives. Masks the user’s location. I’ll just use that to access the Internet.” I tapped at a couple of keys. “Let’s find out who owns that car.”
Using my federal ID access number I logged onto the police archives and searched through the impound records; and a moment later Lien-hua nailed a finger to the screen. “It’s Austin Hunter’s car!”
“Unbelievable,” I said. “He was one step ahead of us the whole time.”
I tapped a few more keys. “The parking tickets are real. He managed to get them all since leaving the SEALs. He must have saved them up, stuck ‘em on the car so it would get noticed.”
She thought for a moment. “So, Hunter must have known that if he got caught, the car would eventually be impounded because of the parking tickets. The device would be confiscated and stored safely at police headquarters and he would still have a bargaining chip to save Cassandra. Simple but elegant.”
“It’s just that Dunn’s impatience helped the process along.”
“Very impressive.”
The mention of Austin brought a somber mood to the room, and only after working on our meal silently for a few moments did it seem right to get back to business.
At last I continued my explanation of neural mapping, identity tracking, and the technological possibility of inducing brain damage or giving someone a stroke with the device. I ended by saying, “I know that at first glance this whole thing sounds unbelievable, like some kind of science fiction movie, but-”
Lien-hua shook off my skepticism. “Pat, cell phones were science fiction thirty years ago. So were mp3 players, DVDs, personal computers, smart bombs, spy planes, digital photographs, the list goes on.”
“True.” As I thought about her words, I realized that nearly all the technology I need in order to do my job had been invented in my lifetime.
“Even a decade ago,” she continued, “who would have thought we could implant electrodes into the brains of people with physical disabilities that would allow them to type, simply by thinking of the letters?”
“What’s impossible today is commonplace tomorrow,” I mumbled. I tried to imagine what types of technological, medical, and weaponry advances we’d see within the next thirty years, but it was too mind-boggling to even imagine.
“Besides,” she added, “if what Dr. Osbourne told you is true, the technology for this device has been around for years.”
“It just took someone to pull it all together,” I said. “To make the connection.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I’m almost surprised no one has tried creating something like this before.”
Our conversation brought me back to the troubling thought that I’d first had at Dr. Osbourne’s house, but in the rush to find Lien-hua and get to an out-of-the-way location, I hadn’t had the chance to look into it. “Lien-hua, what’s the hardest thing to do in a murder?”
Without even hesitating. “Getting rid of the body.”
“Right. So, what if you don’t have a body?”
“How could you not have a body?”
“By not murdering someone.”
She took a small sip of her cola. “I’m not sure I’m following you here.”
I surfed to the online archives of the San Diego Union-Tribune.
“Remember when Hunter said he didn’t kill the people?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Who was he talking about? Which people? I figure that, since he was the arsonist, whatever deaths he was talking about would seem to be related to the fires, right?” As I spoke, I found what I was looking for. The obituaries page for April