A Melody for James

Chapter 1

Angela Montgomery nearly missed it. She had lost herself in memories of her recent birthday celebration marking the passing of her 30th year on earth. Her husband, James, her junior by 2 short years, had gone all out. Being “much” younger, he had decorated the entire house with black balloons and held a surprise “wake” for the passing of her late youth. Daydreaming and lost in feelings of love and adoration for her beloved groom, Angela nearly failed to recognize the moment when it happened.

When her consciousness shifted from her reverie back to the present, for several breaths she simply stared at the smart board in front of her and ran through the calculations again. Then she tried to ignore the little shivers of nervous excitement that danced up her spine.

“Heeyyyyy…” Donald Andrews clicked a few keys on the laptop in front of him, magnifying the image on the smart board screen so that it covered the entire wall. “Did we just…”

Angela rose, her legs feeling uncharacteristically stiff, and walked forward while staring at the screen. “You know what, I’m cautiously going to say yes. Yes, we did.”

Alvin Berry let out a loud, “Whoop!” He removed the ever-present knit cap from the top of his head and tossed it into the air. The group collectively looked at each other and grinned. Years of work, and the breakthrough sat right there on that smart board, staring back at them.

“We should celebrate,” Lorie Frazier announced. She pulled her glasses from her nose and casually tossed them onto the stack of papers in front of her. “We need to celebrate, then we need to call a press conference. But only after we get to the patent office.”

Angela looked back at the screen. “We have to be sure.”

“We’re sure,” Alvin said. “Look at that beauty. It is so simple yet so elegant.”

“Call James,” Lorie said. “Tell him to make us a reservation in the most ridiculously expensive restaurant Atlanta has to offer. Tell him we’re going to celebrate.”

Despite her naturally conservative nature, Angela started to let the feeling of giddy excitement take over. She laughed and hugged Don as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket.

Her husband would probably jump up and down or do a little dance of celebration. She felt like she might just as easily be making a call to announce that she was expecting their first child instead of the conclusion of this long project.

For five years, she and this amazing team of engineers had worked to perfect this revolutionary data storage solution. For five years, usually working six days a week, usually not less than twelve hours a day, they’d toiled in this basement lab in her inherited home. While she’d hoped and prayed for all that time, now that the reality of what they’d accomplished actually shone back at her from that beautiful smart screen, she realized she hadn’t ever really been certain they’d succeed.

Except they had.

She got James’ voice mail. “Darling,” she purred, knowing he’d hear the smile in her voice. “We did it. We’re done. I cannot wait to show you. Come home. Come see. We need to celebrate.”

As soon as Angela hung up, she gave Lorie a hug and said, “I vote for cheesecake.”

“Copious amounts,” the nearsighted genius agreed. “Oh! With strawberries! And really good coffee.”

Angela felt her heart skip when the red security light started flashing. Her eyebrows crowded together in confusion. Why was the intruder alarm going off now?

Angela had inherited the farmhouse at the age of 17 from her late uncle and lived there throughout her lengthy matriculation at Georgia Tech. For a brief time when this venture was just beginning, she and her brand-new husband, James, as well as their business partner and his best friend, Kurt, had all lived there under the same roof.

During the initial months and years, Kurt and James had renovated the basement entirely; installing a T1, a two-post rack of networking gear, a four-post rack of high-performance servers; and most importantly, a state-of-the-art security system, designed and built by her brilliant husband himself. For the last five years, they had hardened the basement into a panic room with steel reinforced doors, magnetic locks, and pinhole security cameras. It took two-factor authentication to even get into the room.

When the magnitude of the fact that the security alarm was still sounding sunk in, Angela whirled around until her eyes met Don’s. When she spoke, she hated the shrill edge of panic she detected in her voice. “Back it up to the Snap.”

His fingers clicked on the keys with the speed of machine gun fire as he spoke. “There’s no time. We didn’t do an incremental yesterday because the waffle was running a defrag.”

“Right. Execute a differential and encrypt it.” She waited for a few heartbeats while Don’s fingers played out a staccato percussion on his laptop.

With confusion clouding his eyes, he looked up and announced, “Our hard line is down.”

Alvin pressed a series of keys on his computer, and several small screens appeared on the smart board, all showing different angles of her home. Men in masks moved through the empty house with military precision, high powered and very deadly looking carbine rifles tucked tightly into their shoulders at the ready. They stared around every corner through the sights on the short rifles.

Lorie gasped and said, “What is going on? Who are they?”

Fear and panic tried to take over. Her stomach turned into ice and Angela felt like her breathing wasn’t productive, like she could never get a deep enough breath. Focus, she said to herself. You will have time to be scared when it’s over.

“Can you remember how we got here since the last backup?” Angela asked Alvin, her hand pointing in his direction like a knife blade. If she’d ever met anyone whose memory rivaled her husband’s, it was Alvin.

His voice sounded flat, emotionless. “Yes. Of course, I can.”

She watched a crouched figure outside the entrance to the lab tape two-liter plastic bottles filled with water to the hinges of the security door. The security that James and Kurt had installed was tight, state of the art even, and the door was sealed. Except that no seal in a hundred miles would withstand the blast of a shaped charge pushing water ahead of a supersonic shock wave. It would slice through the steel door faster than the world’s most powerful cutting torch.

Whomever these people were, they had known the defenses they would have to overcome. They were prepared. They had planned. They had obviously even rehearsed as was apparent in their staged and perfectly timed precision movements. The most dangerous thing Angela and her team had for protection once that door came down were a few custom computer viruses.

She’d known the risks. The long-term applications of the soon to be patented technology could not even be calculated. The reason they worked out of her home instead of in some downtown lab was for the secrecy of the project.

They’d taken additional precautions which Angela belatedly realized she had characterized as “paranoid.” A commercial exothermic incendiary device much like a military grade thermite grenade perched atop each server array that would, when detonated, melt their way through the machines at over 4 thousand degrees Fahrenheit, effectively destroying everything in a completely unrecoverable fashion. They would burn three times hotter than molten lava, and the crew would have to be careful not to look at them since the radiant energy was bright enough to blind them without a welding visor.

“Then destroy it. Destroy it all.”

Lorie’s finger hovered over a steel pin. “You’re sure?”

The explosion above them shook the room. Alvin rushed to the inner door and made sure the panic room door remained bolted on all four corners. Angela closed the lid on her laptop and slid it into the two-inch air gap between network switches. Then she draped her hand on Lorie’s shoulder and whispered, “Do it.”

She closed her eyes and started to pray as the room around her grew suddenly very hot, and smoke started billowing up to the ceiling. “Heavenly Father, if I live through this, let me remain in Your will. But if I come home to you, Lord, please watch over my husband. Let him feel your comforting love and let him find the destiny you have in mind for him.”

Smoke alarms went off and the lights flickered. Then she felt herself being picked up and thrown aside, riding on the wave of a perfectly timed blast. As she flew backward from the shock of the multiple explosions blowing open her steel door she prayed even harder—she prayed for courage, for protection, for strength.

As she landed and fell against the tower of computer drives, she watched the thermite spill and splatter like lava, setting the entire area on fire. Her last thought was of pain as a spray of burning powder fell on her chest.

James Montgomery stared at the blackened shell of what used to be his house. As the sun rose in the Georgia sky, he watched the last big fire department engine drive away. He felt empty, cold. He reached inside himself and tried to find anything—anger, grief—anything. He found only emptiness. Idly, he wondered why he didn’t feel the least bit tired since he had last slept fifty hours earlier.

He watched as the coroner’s office carried yet another body out of the black shell. So far, he counted six. Due to the heat of the fire, the bodies themselves were unrecognizable, but he’d identified his wife’s wedding ring. What remained of her was charred beyond recognition, her body curled up into a tight fetal position.

Pugilism, the coroner had called it. Apparently, muscle and tendon burn at different rates making burned human bodies curl up and crouch like professional boxers. It was the kind of trivia that interested medical examiners offered when attempting to make polite small talk with the next of kin while standing over the earthly remains of the most important person in his world.

How? Where had they gone wrong? What part of the hyper-diligent security measures didn’t get followed? Was this an insider thing?

“Mr. Montgomery, if it’s okay I’d like to ask you a couple of questions,” said the police officer who’d introduced himself hours before as Detective Roberts. James looked over at him with dry burning eyes. The detective had a lean athletic body, sandy blond hair, and laugh lines. He’d arrived with an older detective who sat back and let Roberts take the lead, obviously training him.

“It’s fine,” James answered, his throat burning. His voice sounded ragged, weak. He didn’t like it. He didn’t know if he would ever get the smell of smoke out of his nose or the other smell from his memory.

“That was a really impressive room you had in your basement. The security looks like it was amazing.”

James raised an eyebrow. “That isn’t a question.”

Roberts nodded. “Why don’t you just explain to me why you thought you might need a room like that in your basement, and maybe why you felt the need to keep thermite grenades handy.”

“My wife—” his voice hitched, and he cleared his throat and swallowed. “My wife,” he began again, “was an information security engineer. She and her team were developing a technology for data warehousing that would, in a conservative estimate, be worth about a hundred billion dollars the first year.”

Roberts paused in writing in his notebook. “I beg your pardon?”

“Most of this work was a secret. We retrofitted our basement because we felt like it was the most inconspicuous, secure location. Our intent was security by obscurity.” James put his hands in his pockets and balled his fists. “Obviously, that was folly.” He felt his phone and pulled it out. “I had a voicemail from her. They’d made a breakthrough.” He accessed the message and played it on speaker for Roberts. His heart twisted painfully in his chest as he heard his wife’s voice again.

“We had thermite grenades sitting on the stacks of hard drives so that if there was ever a security breach, they could just pull the pin and the data would be destroyed. We keep daily backups off-site.” He waved a hand weakly at the destroyed house. “It shouldn’t have caused a fire to spread. The area was contained with two feet of cement on the ground, and a ventilated chimney that had a battery backed up fan. I don’t know how that happened.”

The detective said, “Did you account for the idea that intruders might use high explosives?”

James shook his head. “That was a failure of our collective imagination.”

“Any thoughts as to who did this? Any idea where we should start?”

James slipped his phone back into his pocket and ran a thumb over the keys. The late May wind picked up and blew his red tie over his shoulder. He took his glasses off and rubbed at his gritty eyes. “Detective Roberts, for a hundred billion dollars, I’d suspect your grandmother.” He put his glasses back on his face and looked intently at the other man.

“There was a grad student applying for an internship. She let him walk through the lab, but didn’t end up hiring him. I never met him. I’ll have to see if the University can give you his name.”

Roberts nodded and wrote in his book. “I appreciate that.” He looked at the blackened home and then at James. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket. “Please let me know if you think of anything or if you learn of anything. Call anytime, day or night. Don’t hesitate.”

James took the card, read it, and immediately committed the information to memory. “Likewise, detective.” He heard the squeal of tires and turned his head to see his best friend’s car coming fast down his road. “There’s Kurt Lawson, my partner. He may know more about the intern. He deals directly with HR stuff like that.”

Rikard Šabalj stood on the banks of the Danube River. In the distance, he could see the walls of the Golubac Fortress of Serbia nestled into the cliff.

Fury burned hot in his chest. Plans had gone awry. He hadn’t known about the thermite. If he’d known, they would have gained access to the room a different way. He knew that the second they filed the patent, all would be lost. The second he had audio confirmation of the breakthrough, he had no choice but to move and move fast.

The fire, the gunshots, the smell of the burning flesh—he lost control of the situation, lost two good men, and still didn’t have the billions that had been promised to him.

The satellite phone next to him signaled an incoming call. He had no desire to answer it, but he did anyway. No one would call him a coward.

“Yeah,” he said, knowing the caller would speak English.

“What happened?”

“Sometimes, plans don’t work. I didn’t have all of the information of their security.”

“Police are at a loss. At least you covered your tracks well.”

“I’m not concerned about the American police force. I’m just happy that my client doesn’t know about my intent to betray them. They aren’t happy with the failure, but at least I’m alive and not a rotting corpse staked to the side of the road to serve as an example.” Needing to release some energy, Rikard picked up a stone and threw it as hard as he could over the cliff and toward the river. “Keep your ear to the ground. I won’t return if there is any heat at all.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” After a long pause, the caller said, “We might have another way.”

“Another way to what?”

“We have all of the preliminary research, thanks to your guy’s hacking skills. We just need the capital to fund continuing the project. That’s where you come in.”

“Where am I supposed to come up with the capital to research a project worth billions?”

He could hear the smile in the replying voice. “You will acquire it.”

Melody Mason stood in the shade next to the large pool house. All around her, Atlanta’s creme de le creme mingled and networked. A few isolated teens took advantage of the cooling waters of the pool, but most of the adults remained dressed and coifed.

Melody brushed at her white sundress, feeling a little out of sorts. Two weeks ago, she’d graduated from college, and for the last couple of weeks, she’d struggled desperately to find her purpose in life.

“Melly, there you are,” Ginger Patterson said, wearing a vivid red dress and a blue sun hat to protect her alabaster skin. Her blonde curls danced out from under the rim of the hat, and her lipstick was as bright as the dress if that were possible. “I’m so happy you were able to come to our little party.”

A uniformed waiter approached carrying a tray that contained a bowl of cocktail shrimps arranged around a bed of ice. He offered some to Melody, who wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“I have never missed a Patterson Memorial Day party in my life, to my memory,” Melody said, lifting her heavy black hair off of her shoulders to catch a bit of the breeze. “It’s like an official summer tradition.”

“Where is your sister? I thought Morgan would be here by now.”

“She’s here. We came together. She’s in the library with your Aunt Mildred, who is convinced that the room needs a decorating overhaul.”

Ginger giggled and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, poor Morg. I should probably go rescue her.”

A large man came toward them, wearing a patterned Hawaiian shirt that stretched over his large stomach. He was as tall as Melody’s 5’10”, but had such a commanding air about him that he always appeared much taller. He wore a cap with a Georgia Bulldog on it, and had a cigar clenched between his teeth. “Melody Mason, congratulations on your graduation. Dance and piano, eh? Plans yet?”

Melody smiled and held her hand out in greeting. “David, it’s so good to see you. I expected you in New York for the ceremony.”

As her late father’s best friend and the guardian of her trust fund, David Patterson often acted as a surrogate father for Melody and her sister Morgan.

“I had plans to attend, but a very last-minute issue cropped up.” He removed the cigar and clenched it between his thumb and finger. “Never been a fan of that city. Anywhere you can’t get grits for breakfast is not the place for me.”

Ginger slipped her arm into her father’s. “Daddy doesn’t like to leave Georgia. Do you, Daddy?”

“Not even for a minute, my peach.” He was jostled from behind and turned to see who had bumped into him. “Beg your pardon,” he said to the young man.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Patterson. I was trying to keep from getting splashed by the kid canon-balling into the pool.” The man was incredibly handsome, with blond good looks and gray-green eyes. Melody looked him up and down. He wouldn’t make a good dancer, no, but she thought he reminded her of a cowboy, with long, lean legs, a small waist, and broad shoulders.

Ginger gasped and turned, rushing toward the kids in the pool. “Michael,” she yelled, off to correct whatever kid would dare to splash some of the most important people in the southeastern United States.

David nodded. “No problem, son. Be more aware of your surroundings.” He turned back to Melody. “Melly, come to dinner tomorrow. We need to see what your plans are now.”

She smiled and broke her gaze off of the cute blond long enough to look at her guardian. “Sounds good,” she said, not certain what she’d just agreed to.

The blond held out his hand, and she placed her thin hand into his big, warm grip. “Richard Johnson,” he said with a smooth southern drawl.

“Melody Mason.” She started to pull her hand away, but he resisted. She raised her eyebrow, and he smiled at her in a way that made her heart flip.

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” He looked around. “If I told you that you were quite easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, would you think that was some cheap line?”

Feeling her cheeks fuse with color, Melody nodded. “I likely would.”

Richard sighed and brought her hand up to his lips. He brushed a kiss over the knuckles before releasing her hand. “Then I shall avoid saying it and just continue thinking it.”

Melody laughed. “You’re a charmer.”

“When you’re a poor intern among such established wealth, you have to use all your skills.” He gallantly placed a hand over his heart. “May I offer you a drink?”

“That would be delightful, Mr. Johnson.”

“Richard, please. I have a feeling we’re going to get to know each other rather well. Now, your parents wouldn’t be those Masons, would they? I seem to recall…”

Melody confirmed his suspicions. “Yes, I am quite sure you are thinking of my parents. And, yes, David is in charge of my trust.”

“I read about that. I was a freshman in high school when it happened. Terrible thing, really.”

Melody forced herself to smile and pretended that she didn’t once more feel the stabbing loss of her parents after all these years. “How about that drink, Richard?”

He gestured for her to precede him toward the sparkling lemonade fountain. “I live to serve, ma’am, as every southern gentleman ought.”