are. There are sixteen of us.”
Alex prodded him on with his eyebrows.
“Frank brought me on board about three months into his tenure to troubleshoot a problem he was having with software. I fixed it in less than twenty-four hours. Then there was a structural integrity issue, followed by a friction issue. It was one thing after another. Kind of like working with Edison on the light bulb.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re feeling suicidal, Jason.”
Jason’s face remained serene, but Alex knew he’d gotten to him when he caught Jason tugging the hair on the back of his fingers. Too much alike ...
“The difference between my responsibilities and Frank’s was scope. I answered for specific issues. When I solved one, I got my reward, got my ego charged. Frank answered for everything. He was banking on the supercharge he’d get when he eventually released the UE-2000 to production, but until that time every day was a drain. Perhaps the latest progress report sucked the last of his reserves.”
Had Jason already talked to Vogel? “So, do you expect to stay with the project?”
Jason shook his head. “The UE-2000 is only one of several projects I’ve got going. I don’t need the work, so I’m not going to subject myself to the constant reminder of a lost friend.
“How about you, Alex? How’s the inaugural year of International Private Investigations treating you?”
“No complaints. ”
“How many on your team? ”
“Just me.”
“Keep it simple. Good for you. So, you headed back to San Diego soon?”
“I think I’ll stick around a while. Play a little game of cat and mouse.”
Jason drew in his breath as though preparing a witty knock-yourself-out response, but then paused with a contemplative look on his face. After a moment he said, “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if it wasn’t suicide, then the murderer is very clever. And this clever murderer undoubtedly knows who you are, Alex.”
“Agreed.”
“You, on the other hand, have no clue as to his identity.”
“So?”
“So, Alex, that makes you the mouse.”
Chapter 9
Seattle Washington
Victor used his night-vision goggles to survey the backyard. With its grand old trees, thick grass, and gentle slope, poets might describe the Davis house as a good place to be a squirrel. With its fenceless yards, trusting neighbors, and darkened streets, Victor would describe it as the perfect place to be a spy. He returned the goggles to his backpack, and slipped out of the woods.
He found the patio door unlocked. This was a double bonus as it indicated that the alarm would also be unarmed. It just didn’t get any better than this. Victor had come equipped to handle locks and alarms, but he was pleased that those skills might not be required. He did not particularly enjoy the cloak-and-dagger part of his job; it was too dangerous. Creative engineering, grand deception, blind extortion, those were his passions in life. Fortunately they also comprised the bulk of his work.
The sensor in his hand emitted a low steady hum, indicating that the alarm was indeed inactive. Victor had learned that few Americans bothered to set their alarms at night. It was one more thing that made operating in the “land of the free” so easy. People were so trusting here, at least those from the middle and upper classes. The poor knew better. They were still grounded in global reality. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Dr. Davis, and you are about to feel the teeth .
The Davises had extinguished the last light at their Seattle residence two hours earlier, just after ten. Victor had spent the intervening time studying the house layout, courtesy of the builder’s marketing brochure, and rehearsing various contingency plans in his head. The former activity would enable him to navigate confidently in the dark. This was not crucial—he had identified
Alex prodded him on with his eyebrows.
“Frank brought me on board about three months into his tenure to troubleshoot a problem he was having with software. I fixed it in less than twenty-four hours. Then there was a structural integrity issue, followed by a friction issue. It was one thing after another. Kind of like working with Edison on the light bulb.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re feeling suicidal, Jason.”
Jason’s face remained serene, but Alex knew he’d gotten to him when he caught Jason tugging the hair on the back of his fingers. Too much alike ...
“The difference between my responsibilities and Frank’s was scope. I answered for specific issues. When I solved one, I got my reward, got my ego charged. Frank answered for everything. He was banking on the supercharge he’d get when he eventually released the UE-2000 to production, but until that time every day was a drain. Perhaps the latest progress report sucked the last of his reserves.”
Had Jason already talked to Vogel? “So, do you expect to stay with the project?”
Jason shook his head. “The UE-2000 is only one of several projects I’ve got going. I don’t need the work, so I’m not going to subject myself to the constant reminder of a lost friend.
“How about you, Alex? How’s the inaugural year of International Private Investigations treating you?”
“No complaints. ”
“How many on your team? ”
“Just me.”
“Keep it simple. Good for you. So, you headed back to San Diego soon?”
“I think I’ll stick around a while. Play a little game of cat and mouse.”
Jason drew in his breath as though preparing a witty knock-yourself-out response, but then paused with a contemplative look on his face. After a moment he said, “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if it wasn’t suicide, then the murderer is very clever. And this clever murderer undoubtedly knows who you are, Alex.”
“Agreed.”
“You, on the other hand, have no clue as to his identity.”
“So?”
“So, Alex, that makes you the mouse.”
Chapter 9
Seattle Washington
Victor used his night-vision goggles to survey the backyard. With its grand old trees, thick grass, and gentle slope, poets might describe the Davis house as a good place to be a squirrel. With its fenceless yards, trusting neighbors, and darkened streets, Victor would describe it as the perfect place to be a spy. He returned the goggles to his backpack, and slipped out of the woods.
He found the patio door unlocked. This was a double bonus as it indicated that the alarm would also be unarmed. It just didn’t get any better than this. Victor had come equipped to handle locks and alarms, but he was pleased that those skills might not be required. He did not particularly enjoy the cloak-and-dagger part of his job; it was too dangerous. Creative engineering, grand deception, blind extortion, those were his passions in life. Fortunately they also comprised the bulk of his work.
The sensor in his hand emitted a low steady hum, indicating that the alarm was indeed inactive. Victor had learned that few Americans bothered to set their alarms at night. It was one more thing that made operating in the “land of the free” so easy. People were so trusting here, at least those from the middle and upper classes. The poor knew better. They were still grounded in global reality. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Dr. Davis, and you are about to feel the teeth .
The Davises had extinguished the last light at their Seattle residence two hours earlier, just after ten. Victor had spent the intervening time studying the house layout, courtesy of the builder’s marketing brochure, and rehearsing various contingency plans in his head. The former activity would enable him to navigate confidently in the dark. This was not crucial—he had identified
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