Butterfly Stomp Waltz

Chapter 15

15

At Rob’s question, the slung canvas seat and back of the chair suddenly feels like an interrogation stool. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the open balcony agonizes my burning sleep-deprived eyes. The delicious remnants of Rob’s fish and vegetables abruptly smell like spilled bowels.

Nothing has changed.

Everything has changed.

I try to still my pounding heart. The half glass of wine didn’t help. Talking about Newcastle, about Deke, demands something more like a bottle of JD, a great big bottle.

I deliberately close my eyes and take a breath.

Rob waits, the image of patience.

You don’t talk about past gigs in any specific way. You might swap horror stories with other pros that you know really well, but you always strip away anything that might identify you as the person who raided Organization Blah-blah-blah. Some of these orgs have long memories and have funds set aside specifically for retaliation.

But now, Newcastle Biologics could retaliate all they wanted.

So long as I got my retaliation in first.

When I feel I can speak without completely losing it I say, “Newcastle. Newcastle Biologics. Yet another research firm, very hush-hush. Someone contacted Deke for the gig—he didn’t say who. Standard procedure. What nobody knows, nobody can tell.”

Rob knows that, of course. He’s the one who taught Deke. But it’s somehow easier to spell it all out. All the details delay the end of the story.

I say, “He’d always tell me afterwards, but I could kind of tell what sort of client it was by the packet. And this was a pretty big packet, if we pulled it all off. All kinds of stages. One for snagging certain research data, pretty normal stuff. Another for delivery of a data payload onto their research network. Then they wanted specific samples from the gene lab. An engineered corn.”

Rob is sitting back in his chair. He looks totally relaxed, with his shoulders pulled back but his hands palm-up in his lap. He’s watching me with sympathy but total concentration. I pause. He offers an encouraging nod.

“It was me and Deke. Deke’s the lead, of course. And firepower.”

And so many more things. Deke had taught me most of what I knew, but I’d barely started to understand just how many skills he had.

Plus, he was an inch taller than me. Shoulders you could hang engine blocks from. The smells of soap and eighteen different kinds of Old Spice. A lazy slow southern US accent that made people think he wasn’t smart, and affected bad grammar that made them think he was dumb. Until it was too late.

My throat tightens.

I need a moment to continue.

“We had Rob on data, Rob Beck that is. Terry Maul for getting into the lab, and Jessica Totter for finding the sample. Deke went with the lab crew. Beck and I had Hancock Skoll.”

When I pause again, Rob says “All good people. Some of the best.”

“We had everything down. I handled the alarms, no problem. Slipped in through the fence, through the greenbelt, up the inner wall. Wireless comms worked fine. I checked the encryption. Nobody else could hear anything.” It feels like all the moisture in me has moved up behind my eyes. My voice is hoarse. My throat is burning dry.

The only thing to drink is the wine. I reach for the quarter-empty green glass wine bottle, but my hand is shaking.

Rob gently takes the bottle from my hand and pours me another half a glass.

I slug it down.

Rob grimaces.

The tasteless wine burns and soothes all the way to my twisting stomach.

“Everything’s going fine. Deke’s team is in the lab looking for the sample. Beck is in the datacenter extracting data as fast as the IO bus can deliver it.”

The band around my chest feels tighter now. Wine fumes in my sinuses. My heart thuds like a trapped animal slamming itself against the bars of its cage.

Rob asks, “Where were you?”

“Two floors up. In the rafters.”

Rob raises both eyebrows. “Interesting choice.”

“I had their wireless voice comms tapped, but we wanted video.”

Understanding lights his face. “So you went to a data closet.”

“The data closet right next to their main security station, on the top floor. Plugged it into my tablet. Newcastle doesn’t have ubiquitous surveillance, but the halls have choke points. If you want into the lab or the DC you gotta get past them. I had to loop the video anyway, so I just stayed to watch the actual feeds. Make sure there wasn’t a patrol.”

“Interesting.”

“Always plan for—” My breath catches. “For the worst.”

Rob nods soberly.

“A complex gig. Two teams. Armed security on site. Down by the door and upstairs. Not—” My stomach twists harder. I taste bile. I swallow. “They weren’t supposed to be heavily armed.”

“And they were?”

“No.” I shake my head, staring at my empty plate. “They weren’t.”

I hold my silence for a long moment.

“Go on, dearest.” Rob has the voice of a seducer. “You can tell me.”

“So Deke’s crew gets the sample just about when Beck delivers the payload. Their research network goes belly-up like it’s been shot in the head. Probably a multiple zero-day virus, I figure, plus some soft-loadable firmware to corrupt their recovery hardware. They’re heading back into the basement. I’m waiting until they pass the last camera, then I’m going to go down the crawlspace to join them and we all bail together.”

This is it.

My ribs don’t want to let my lungs expand.

I force myself to say, “Those choke points? Where the cameras are? Newcastle had f*****g kill squads just off camera view. Skoll and Beck came into camera view and just got chewed up. Hundreds of rounds. Hundreds. Just took them to pieces. The sound, over the headsets.” Gunfire. Short choked blood-bubbly screams. They sank into my bones. I can still feel the sound there. It’ll always be there.

I whisper, “Deke gives this quiet shout, I heard it, like he’s screaming under his breath, and the lab team starts running, but they come into another camera point and there’s another kill squad there and they—they—”

The tears come out. I can’t help it. I hunch forward and hug myself.

Rob awkwardly comes around the table and pats my shoulder. I know he’s not comfortable with women, but I instinctively seize him and bury my face in his stomach. He stiffens, but pets my short hair.

I need a few moments before I can pull back. “Sorry,” I sniff.

“Not at all.” Rob moves back to his chair. “I anticipated your reaction, and dressed for the occasion.”

I try to pretend to be normal. It’s the least I can do for Rob. “I thought that suit wasn’t your usual.”

“This thing?” Rob pinched the linen jacket’s threadbare lapels between thumbs and forefingers, a hint of not-exactly-mock disdain twisting his lips. “I simply cannot be seen in public in such rags. My husband would never live down the shame.”

I can’t help half a smile. “I guess I should say thank you.”

“Consider it a mark of the esteem in which I hold you.” His expression turns serious as he releases his lapels. “And Deke.”

The tightness in my chest isn’t gone, but it’s receded. My ribs ache from sobbing and my nose is stuffy. I’d normally blow it on my slightly soiled napkin, but Rob’s brought these exquisite linen things. I excuse myself to the bathroom to splash lukewarm water on my face and try to pull myself together.

When I come out, Rob has packed everything back in the cooler. The chairs now sit at angles to the table. The bottle of white wine has disappeared, replaced by a bulging bottle of some dark wine in the center of the table. Two small glass snifters flank the bottle.

Rob stands between the table and me, with his hands clasped behind his back. He’s wiped my snot off his well-worn suit jacket, with only modest success. “Better?”

I nod.

“Excellent. You have my sincere condolences and sympathies.”

“Thank you.”

“And you should know…” Rob braces himself. “Thanks to your tale, I now believe I have an excellent idea who is responsible.”