Read Online Wired by Francine Pascal - Free Book Online Page A

garbage from an overflowing trash can that stood at the corner of the sidewalk. All in all, the location was thoroughly unimpressive. But Jake knew enough about Oliver by this point to know that nondescript was the order of the day. The door before him was shabby and splintering and looked like something that would have crumpled at even the slightest tap, but there was a reason that Oliver had provided him with a door code. Jake knew it would have been literally impossible to infiltrate the rickety-looking walk-up without it.
    Carefully Jake punched a set of numbers into a touch pad that had been installed in the outer doorway. He had a moment of wavering doubt, but when he jimmied the doorknob and shoved lightly against the door with his hip, it gave way with only slightresistance. He stepped into the entryway of the building, which was no more impressive on the inside. “Hello?” he called out.
    There was no answer. Of course. Oliver’s instructions had been very specific: he’d been told to proceed directly to the third floor. Jake made his way up the warped, unsteady staircase, taking pains to avoid the odd glue trap that had been left out. Thankfully, the traps were all empty. Small favors and all that. Though he was fairly certain mice would be the least of his concerns today.
    The third-floor landing didn’t appear to hold much promise: the floor was dusty and hadn’t been swept in… well, hadn’t been swept in a while. More mousetraps were tossed to the far corners of the hallways, collecting lint, which was slightly preferable to the alternative, considering. But the door directly to Jake’s left was clearly marked 302, which was exactly where Oliver had promised he’d be waiting. Jake knocked uncertainly, then decided that Oliver wouldn’t be moved by his indecision. Oliver preferred a man who knew his own mind. Jake stepped more confidently through the door.
    He was greeted immediately with the sight of Oliver’s back. The room was small and bare, furnished only with an ancient floor lamp radiating minimal light from a naked bulb, a wooden desk that had seen better days, and an office chair that could easily havebeen swiped from the street. It was missing a wheel, Jake noticed. But at the desk Oliver was punching furiously at the keypad of a state-of-the-art iMac, barely taking note of Jake’s arrival. Jake knew Oliver well enough to know that his nonreaction to his guest’s arrival was one part intimidation tactic, one part intense span of attention. Sweat stood out on his brow, and his gaze was locked in fierce concentration.
    â€œHey,” Jake said. His voice sounded too loud. “Five-thirty. I’m here. What have you got?”
    â€œShhh!” Oliver reprimanded, tapping out a final thought and slamming down on the control key. Then, as if remembering his initial invitation, he swiveled in his chair to face Jake. “Oh, yes,” he said by way of greeting. “I’m glad you could make it.”
    â€œWouldn’t miss it,” Jake replied easily, coming closer to catch a glimpse of the computer screen. It was devoid of anything especially juicy, but he could tell that Oliver had been sending out a flurry of e-mails just as Jake arrived. “You’ve got info on the bastards after Gaia?”
    â€œYes, of course. Some of my sources have intercepted various messages…. Look here.” He pointed at the screen. “Imperative for testing that further samples be taken from the subject for hair follicle tests. A few strands will be sufficient, but a dozen will be more useful….’” He scrolled down the screen, continuing to read select passages aloud. “‘Confrontation with thesubject should be kept to a minimum.’” He turned from the screen and back to Jake, his face impassive. Jake could tell Oliver expected him to make something of the passages he’d just read. Too bad he was