Countdown. Ruth Wind
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assisted her with a case two months ago, when a young hacker used bomb schematics to encrypt messages through the upper reaches of government. Privately, Kim had been impressed with the kid, a bored seventeen-year-old with too much time on his hands and a brain that needed challenges. Lex had been the first to spot the schematics while working an unrelated case and had e-mailed Kim to ask her advice over whether the coding could be done.
Their cooperation—an NSA employee and an FBI agent—would have been unheard of several years ago. Animosity had been more the game in those days. But reporter after reporter had turned up examples of situations that could have been defused by real communication between agencies and the pressure to cooperate had become too powerful to resist. The top-level security agencies in the country were—at least officially—encouraging interdepartmental communication, including this connected link of instant messaging within the various agencies.
It was working. Sort of. The animosity between various agencies, the secretive and jealous ways they guarded their sources, the eternal race to see who would solve which problem first, would never entirely disappear.
Although she’d never met Lex in person, Kim liked his sense of humor and his breezy ways—such as using the name of a comic-book supervillain as his instant-messaging handle.
She typed:
WINDTALKER2: Hey, guy! Still chopping. You’re out late.
LEXLUTHOR: The same could be said of you.
WINDTALKER2: Trying to crack this baby. Feels big.
LEXLUTHOR: Yeah? Wanna brainstorm?
WINDTALKER2: Might be getting too scattered to think now. A.M.?
LEXLUTHOR: No can do. Big meetings.
Kim was overtaken by a yawn. She typed:
WINDTALKER 2: All right. How come you’re working so late?
LEXLUTHOR: Politicians up the wazoo in Chicago this week. Green candidate today. Prez appearing tomorrow. Monihan on Thursday.
WINDTALKER2: Bomb scares?
LEXLUTHOR: Dozens. Every lunatic in the greater metro area has a plan for saving the world. Gotta check ’em all. Been over the courthouse twenty times. The airport at least 452.
WINDTALKER2: 452? That would take a little time.
LEXLUTHOR: Well, maybe it was only six times. FELT like 452.
WINDTALKER2: Any bombs anywhere?
LEXLUTHOR: Nope. Real bombers don’t call ahead.
WINDTALKER2: Ah.
LEXLUTHOR: Hey. I looked up your picture on the company site.
WINDTALKER2: That’s creepy, Luthor.
LEXLUTHOR: Somebody told me you were hot.
WINDTALKER 2: It was probably me. I am hot, and don’t you forget it.
LEXLUTHOR: Kinda short. But then, I’m kinda ugly, so I guess we’re even.
WINDTALKER2: Short is a state of mind.
LEXLUTHOR: <clearing throat delicately> I might be in your area next week. You up for a cup of coffee or something?
WINDTALKER2: Hold on.
LEXLUTHOR: What are you doing?
WINDTALKER2: Checking out YOUR picture. What if you’re really ugly?
LEXLUTHOR: No fair going to the academy photo.
She opened a second window on the computer and ran a search for Alex Tanner, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Chicago, then clicked on the first link. Which was the Academy photo.
Kim grinned. It showed a serious-looking young man, about 21, skinny and with a nose almost too big for his face.
WINDTALKER2: <SNICKER>
LEXLUTHOR: Damn. I’ve put on a few pounds since then.
WINDTALKER2: Good thing.
LEXLUTHOR: We’re all geeks at 21. Check this link out: www.oaksidetelegraph.com/article00364.htm
WINDTALKER2: Yeah, yeah, Luthor. It’s probably a link to Heath Ledger.
But Kim clicked on the link, which took her to a newspaper site, and a headline that read, “Bomb Squadron Safety Record Vetted.” Beneath it was a photo of a man in a black T-shirt that showed off very nice shoulders, a good chest and excellent arms.
Kim raised an eyebrow. His hair was cropped to show a well-shaped head, high cheekbones and, yep, that aggressive nose. Which was a lot sexier on a thirtysomething face.
And he had that mouth, a Denzel Washington mouth, with an overbite and a full lower lip that looked very sexy.
Kim had a weakness for lips like that.
WINDTALKER2: Okay.
LEXLUTHOR: Okay, what?
WINDTALKER2: Okay, you won’t shame me. I’ll have coffee next week.
LEXLUTHOR: Not sure I can handle the exuberance, babe.
WINDTALKER2: Babe? What century are you?
WINDTALKER2: Hang on….
WINDTALKER2: Something coming up on my decryption.
The computer was making a soft, double beep that meant something had been noted in a special file. When she opened it, she frowned.
WINDTALKER2: Hmm. Odd.
LEXLUTHOR: Que?
WINDTALKER2: It’s an odd signature file.
LEXLUTHOR: Not my area, kiddo. I’ll let you get to it.
WINDTALKER2: K-O.
LEXLUTHOR: Next week.
“What am I missing?” she asked herself, peering hard at the screen.
And if she didn’t find the answer, who was going to die because of it?
A small musical noise told her an e-mail had arrived in her personal in-box. It brought the total to twenty-eight, and Kim remembered she’d meant to check the box. Her eyes burned and she knew she needed to get to bed if she was to have any brain at all the next day, but her little sisters were always wounded if she didn’t respond, so she dutifully opened the folder marked “Family.”
“Shit!” she said aloud.
There were two messages from her mother. One was—Kim sighed—an e-mail hoax that had been around for years, about people flashing their headlights erroneously.
The other…
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Sunday dinner
Hi, honey. I’ve been on the phone all day and the girls finally stole it from me. Don’t forget, next Monday is the Columbus Day parade and your sisters’ hearts will be broken if you don’t show up to watch them tap dance on the police float. I was going to have our big meal that day, but nobody wanted to shift the tradition, so we’ll just do it Sunday, as always. Try to come for both, huh? Bring a friend if you want. Maybe your big handsome partner??
Love,
Mom
Below the message from Eileen was a list of twenty-seven e-mails, repeated over and over down the length of the window. Each carried her sister Lynda’s e-mail address, [email protected], and the same subject line: