B007GFGTIY EBOK (3 page)

Bellis made small talk as he saw Shane and Hayden out. Lockhart’s presence in the foyer ended the chitchat abruptly. Lockhart stood in deep contemplation before Chaudhary’s image on the easel. For a moment, he seemingly failed to register anyone’s presence in the room.

“A great shame,” he reflected. “Sundip was a very talented young man. We should have done more for him. What’s going on here?”

“James, this is Hayden Duke,” Bellis said. “He’s joining the team.”

Lockhart shook Hayden’s hand. “Good to have you aboard. I look forward to working with you. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

Lockhart couldn’t have made his point any clearer. It was time for them to leave.

“Thanks for making the trip, Hayden,” Bellis said. “We’ll talk next week.” He ushered Shane and Hayden out the door.

“Lock the door, Trevor,” Hayden heard Lockhart say. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

Bellis locked the door and Lockhart led the way to Bellis’s office. He let Bellis sit while he perched himself on the window ledge. He took in the panoramic view and watched Shane reverse out from his parking spot and drive away.

“Do you know anything about this Hayden Duke?” Lockhart asked.

“Not much. He’s a friend of Shane’s. Why?”

“I noticed him eyeballing us at the game.”

“What do you want?” Bellis asked.

“Watch your tone, Trevor. Just remember who you’re speaking to.”

Bellis said nothing. Instead he fidgeted in his seat.

“I came here to make sure we’re all on the same page about Chaudhary.”

“I got the message.”

“Did you? I wasn’t sure.”

“I got it.”

Lockhart glanced out the window. Beckerman was out there somewhere watching his back, close yet invisible. He’d chosen to keep Beckerman out of sight today. Beckerman had a habit of agitating situations, and Lockhart didn’t want things agitated. Today, he wanted calm. More specifically, he wanted
Bellis
calm.

“You say that, Trevor, but I feel you have questions. If you have them, ask them.”

“Sundip’s death.”

“Yes.”

“It’s convenient.”

“Convenient, how?”

“He’d expressed doubts about the project.”

“Did he mention his doubts to you?”

“Only that we’d been lied to. He said the products we’re designing weren’t being designed for the purpose we were told. He wanted to speak to you and now he’s dead. Did he speak to you?”

Lockhart came away from the window and settled into a chair opposite Bellis. Bellis stiffened and looked cornered. “I met with him. I thought I had set his mind at rest.”

“Obviously you hadn’t.”

Lockhart sighed. “I believe Sundip was overwrought and he cracked. He was deluded. When I think about it now, my answers didn’t help him. I thought the truth would bring him around. Instead, it looks to have pushed him over the edge.”

“So you believe it was a suicide?”

“As opposed to what, Trevor?” Lockhart could feel Bellis psyching himself up to ask the big question. Bellis clearly wanted the question out in the open so he could put the subject to rest.

Ask me, Trevor. You know you want to
.

As if he’d made a psychic link, Bellis asked the question.

“James, did you have anything to do with Sundip’s death?”

“How can you ask such a question?”

He fixed Bellis with his gaze. He left him no room for escape. Bellis would need courage if he were to follow this line of questioning.

Bellis sat up in his seat. “I don’t think Chaudhary was deluded. I know he had doubts about the project and was becoming a little difficult to control, but I don’t think he was suicidal.”

“A little difficult?” Lockhart said. “He was becoming a Grade A pain in the ass. He suddenly got it into his head that what we were doing was wrong.”

“I think that’s a little harsh.”

“More harsh than you accusing me of murder, Trevor?”

Bellis wiped a hand across his face. Finally, the man saw the ridiculousness of what he was saying. Lockhart saw Bellis’s courage leave him in that moment, saw him return to the fold. Bellis might have had suspicions and doubts, but he wouldn’t take them any further. The project remained intact and his clients didn’t need to hear of this setback.

“I’m sorry, James.”

“That’s OK. The last few days have taken their toll on everyone. We’ve lost someone close and it’s shaken us all. Suicide is hard to accept. It’s a betrayal to everyone left behind. We’d prefer to have someone else to blame, but in this case, we don’t have that luxury. Chaudhary killed himself. There’s even a witness who saw him do it.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Lockhart stood up from his seat and rounded the desk. Bellis stood to meet him and they shook hands. Bellis’s hand was slick with sweat. It had taken a lot for the man to confront him. Lockhart placed a comforting hand on Bellis’s shoulder. “Look, Trevor. Next week, come over to San Francisco and we’ll have dinner. I’ll explain the facts of life regarding this project. It’s time I let you in on a few details. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good,” Bellis said, squeezing out a strained smile.

Lockhart saw himself out and drove away. He didn’t pick up his phone until he was back on the freeway. He dialed Becker-man’s number.

“How’d it go?” Beckerman asked.

“It could have gone better. There are doubts, but the situation is contained for now. Did you find anything at Chaudhary’s?”

“Negative. Anything he claimed to have known, he kept to himself.”

“OK. I want you to keep a close eye on MDE. Any more problems, I want to know about them.”

H
ayden fired up his computer in the office he operated out of a converted bedroom. This was only his third night on the MDE job and he was making good progress. Shane hadn’t been wrong. It was grunt work and he was breezing through it. MDE had placed a sixty-hour estimate on the contract. He’d have it wrapped up in fifty. He’d be robbing himself of a couple of thousand bucks, but it would put him in good stead for a callback. Since he was balancing this contract with his daytime gig, the sooner he had MDE out of his hair the better.

The only difficulty came from MDE’s security precautions. Code numbers replaced titles on the drawings and all notes referred to data sheets MDE hadn’t provided. It made Hayden’s job difficult, but not impossible. Engineering was its own language. If you could speak it, you could understand it. He realized several key components were missing from the complete design, but he had enough of the jigsaw pieces to fill in the gaps.

He pulled out the marked-up plans and spread them across his table. He couldn’t see what the fuss was about. MDE claimed their client was on the verge of a breakthrough, but it didn’t look like one to Hayden. Admittedly, he wasn’t in possession of the complete design, but he could read between the lines and he didn’t see anything earth-shattering. The sum total of the designs consisted of manifold systems and simple pressure vessels. Effectively, he was looking at something like a fire-suppression system. He guessed the magic wasn’t in the hardware but what went inside.

He fell into a work groove and soon forgot about MDE and their client. He worked until eleven thirty before calling it a night. He saved his work, then checked his e-mail. He had seven new messages. Among them was an untitled e-mail from Shane with a twenty-meg attachment. He double-clicked the e-mail to open it: “Hayden, store this file. Don’t open it. Don’t read it. Just keep it somewhere safe. I’ll explain later. Shane.”

The message threw him. The attachment’s name, “document1,” didn’t help either. He felt as if he’d walked into the middle of a conversation. Why would Shane send him a file, then tell him not to open it? He was tempted to open it but held off. Shane had entrusted him with this file and he wouldn’t betray that trust, so he saved document1 to his hard drive.

In a world of dependency on electronic documentation, Hayden understood nothing could be taken for granted. Hard drives crashed. CDs degraded. Human error wiped files. One source of storage was never enough. He launched his Internet browser and logged on to an online storage account, where he backed up all of his electronic files, private and business. He saved document1 there too, deleted the e-mail, and shut the machine down.

Hayden flopped onto the living room sofa. Despite the long workday, he couldn’t just go to bed. He needed to unwind in front of the TV. He hadn’t even made it to the end of a sitcom before his curiosity got the better of him. Shane’s message worried him. It was weird. Shane wasn’t the type of person to send cryptic messages late at night. Something was wrong. Even though it was close to midnight, Hayden picked up the phone and dialed Shane’s number.

It rang for a long time. Hayden guessed Shane was asleep, but he didn’t care if he woke him. When Shane eventually answered, Hayden heard caution, not sleep, in his voice.

“Who is this?”

“Shane, it’s Hayden.”

“I can’t talk now,” Shane said. “I’ll call you back.”

“Hey, hold on,” Hayden said. “I want to talk about this e-mail.”

Shane paused for a second. “You shouldn’t have called.”

“Is everything OK?”

“Hayden, it’s late and I don’t have time for this.”

“And I don’t have time for dumb e-mail attachments.”

Shane’s tone switched from dismissive to fearful. “Have you opened it?”

“No. I did as you asked.”

“I made a mistake. Forget all about it. Delete it. We’ll talk later.”

“No. Wait,” Hayden said, but he was talking to the dial tone.

What was going on? There was genuine fear in Shane’s voice when he answered the phone. Who did Shane have to fear? He was living large. Maybe he had money troubles and had gotten himself a hungry loan shark, but Hayden didn’t think so. His troubles had something to do with the e-mail attachment. Hayden reconsidered opening the file, but he decided not to unless Shane didn’t give him any choice. He wouldn’t delete it either, not until Shane explained himself.

He redialed Shane’s number and got his machine. “C’mon, Shane, pick up. Something’s wrong. Let me help. If you don’t pick up, I’m coming over.”

The threat did nothing to spur Shane to answer, so Hayden hung up.

He cursed to himself. Shane wasn’t giving him any choice. He snatched up his car keys and got into his car.

The traffic at midnight cut ten minutes off the journey from Fairfield to San Rafael. Hayden pulled up in front Shane’s house after twelve thirty. What he found unnerved him. Light from every window in the house punched holes in the darkness and a pounding bass line disturbed the night air. A flash of movement from inside the house interrupted the light shining from a downstairs window. Hayden slipped from the car and crossed the lawn.

“Hey, you,” someone called from behind Hayden.

Hayden spun around. A man in a robe came jogging barefoot across the street from the house opposite Shane’s. The neighbor jabbed a finger at Shane’s house. “Do you know that prick?” He didn’t give Hayden time to answer. “That son of a bitch has been playing his damn music for the last hour. Some of us have jobs to go to.”

No one living in this neighborhood would be without a job, but Hayden kept the thought to himself. He saw no point in antagonizing the guy any further.

“I’m here to take care of it.”

“Make sure you do. If you don’t, I’ll let the cops settle it.”

“Has anyone called the cops?”

“No, but I will if that music doesn’t stop.”

Hayden was banking on the fact that no one would call the police. The housing association wouldn’t want to saddle their upscale gated community with a bad reputation.

Having flexed his muscles, the neighbor turned to leave, but Hayden stopped him. “Has this happened before?”

“No, and it better not continue.” He marched off toward his home.

Hayden walked up to the front door and pressed the doorbell. He felt the vibration of the chimes through the button, but the chimes lost their battle against the music.

He looked over his shoulder for the disgruntled neighbor. He stood at the window watching Hayden and waiting for him to live up to his word. Hayden tried the doorknob. It wasn’t locked. He cracked the door open and called out Shane’s name, but like the doorbell, his voice failed to penetrate the noise from the cranked-up sound system. He stepped inside and closed the door.

“Shane, did you know your door was open?” he shouted above the din.

He got no reply.

Hayden ventured further into Shane’s house. He veered into the living room to kill the sound system and hopefully bring Shane running.

He pulled up short when he entered the living room. The place looked as if a tornado had blown through it. Sofas and armchairs were overturned, sliced open, and gutted. A television lay on its back, smoke wafting from the shattered screen. Books and papers covered the carpet. A phone, obviously ripped from its jack, topped the shattered remains of a framed print. The only thing in any semblance of order was the sound system blasting out music at full volume.

Hayden turned the volume down. He didn’t want to scare Shane by killing it altogether. Shane wanted the music on for some reason, so he’d leave it on, but at a reasonable level. The thud of something heavy striking the floor above him cut off his train of thought.

“Shane!” Hayden yelled out and tore up the stairs.

Still, he got no response.

As he reached the top of the stairs, a second heavy impact came from Shane’s bedroom. A splintering crack followed. Hayden raced across the landing and slammed into the closed bedroom door, sending it flying back.

He found the bedroom in a similar state of devastation as the living room. Carnage from the en suite bathroom spilled into the bedroom. The door to the walk-in closet hung off its hinges and clothes were strewn inside. In the bedroom, upturned and emptied drawers covered the floor space. A nightstand was in pieces along with everything it contained. The king-size bed had been upended and the box spring thrown against a wall. Shane stood alone at the center of the wreckage, a butcher knife in his hand. He raised it up and plunged it into the defenseless mattress. The knife disappeared up to its hilt. He dragged the knife down with two hands to open up a twelve-inch-long gash. He jerked the knife out, and the pillow top exhaled a puff of foam. He never once registered Hayden’s presence, let alone the lowered volume of the music.

Hayden stood frozen in shock. The blaring music had been Shane’s cover. If it hadn’t masked the destruction, the cops would have been called.

“Jesus Christ, Shane. What the hell is going on?”

Shane whirled on Hayden, brandishing the knife. “Get out of here.”

Hayden’s heart raced and his gaze went to the knife clutched in Shane’s fist. He wasn’t about to give his friend any more cause to panic.

“Take it easy, Shane.” Hayden did his best to sound as calm as possible. “You don’t want to do anything stupid.”

“I can’t take it easy. I’ve got to find them.”

A tremor crept through Shane. It started at his hands, then traveled up into his arms before his entire body began to quiver. Light glinted off the knife blade in his shaky grasp.

Shane was reaching a tipping point, and if he reached it, Hayden didn’t want to think about what would happen to his friend—or himself. He stood directly in Shane’s path at the point of what looked like a mental collapse.

Shane turned away from Hayden and slammed the knife into the mattress again. Hayden flinched when the blade pierced the tough fabric, but better the mattress took the brunt of Shane’s frenzy than him. Shane yanked down on the knife and ripped another long gash.

Hayden took an exploratory step forward but made sure he kept a clear path between himself and the open door. “What have you got to find?”

“The bugs,” Shane answered, as if Hayden should know. His free hand plunged inside the hole he’d just made and rooted inside the mattress’s guts. “I know they’re here. I know they’re listening.”

What had happened? Shane’s e-mail with the attachment had been time-stamped shortly after eight. His tone had sounded authoritative. Do this for me and don’t ask questions. That wasn’t the person standing before Hayden now. Paranoia and fear now ruled Shane’s mental roost. Something had to have happened to warrant a complete personality change in five hours. Could Shane be high? Hayden had never known him to use drugs, but what else could explain his behavior?

Hayden took another step forward. “What bugs?”

“The bugs. The bugs. You know about the bugs. Don’t pretend you don’t.” Shane jerked his hand free from the mattress. Foam stuffing coated his hand, glued in place by bloody abrasions from where his hand had grazed the bedsprings.

“Have you found any bugs?”

“No,” Shane spat. “Of course not. But they’re here. I know they are.”

It hurt Hayden to witness Shane’s delirium. He’d connected with so few people in his life. He counted Shane as one. To see his friend so lost filled him with guilt. He’d let their relationship slip, and only now, when it was too late, had he finally arrived to help.

“Let me help you find them,” Hayden whispered, resting a hand on Shane’s shoulder.

Hayden had hoped the request would calm Shane, but it ignited the opposite reaction. Shane cast aside the mattress and whipped around. He was an imposing figure, but Hayden stood his ground. He couldn’t let his fear or panic show. Shane was a rampaging animal. He needed little provocation to attack.

It took Hayden a moment to sense pressure against his stomach. Shane had knotted up. Veins bulged in his arms and neck and his muscles were guitar-string tight. Hayden looked down. The butcher knife was pressed against him. Its tip had pierced his shirt and pricked his flesh. Another step forward and the blade would be buried in his intestines. His mouth went dry at the thought. He had to be so careful now. This was the tipping point. A simple nudge would get him killed.

Shane followed Hayden’s gaze. He looked at the knife tip against Hayden’s flesh. Hayden saw a flicker of recognition in Shane’s eyes, but he didn’t draw the knife back.

“You can’t help,” Shane growled. “You have no idea what’s going on.”

“Shane, put the knife down. Please.”

Shane jabbed the knife like an accusing finger. Hayden felt the blade’s tip prick him again and again. Blood trickled down his stomach into the waistband of his pants.

“You don’t have a clue, do you?” Shane demanded.

“No, Shane, I don’t.” The words caught in Hayden’s dry throat.

Shane jerked the knife, snagging Hayden’s shirt on the way up. He brandished it under Hayden’s chin. “Then tell me, what good are you to me?”

Hayden looked for a hint of sanity in Shane and saw none. That scared the hell out of him. He was now tied to this runaway train and only he could stop it.

When Hayden didn’t answer, Shane jabbed the knife into the soft flesh under his chin until it drew blood.

“Shane, you’re really scaring me with that knife. Please put it down.”

Hayden saw Shane boil up inside and he expected the knife to skewer his skull, but Shane emitted a disgusted huffing noise and turned away. He hurled the mattress aside and turned on the box spring.

“You’re no good to me. Go.”

Relief swept over Hayden now that the knife wasn’t pointed at him. He wanted to run like hell, but he couldn’t just leave his friend. Shane had given him a renewed chance to talk him down from the ledge his paranoid brain was on.

“Shane, stop!” he commanded. “Stop and tell me what is going on. I’m your friend and I want to help. I can help, but not if you won’t talk to me.”

Shane impaled the box spring with the knife and held on to it, trapped in contemplation. Hayden’s plea seemed to have gotten through. Shane released his grasp on the knife.