Case of Lies

While they waited for Ed Vasquez to call back, Sandy made Wish take off his sweater and shirt and gave him a sweatshirt she had tucked in the drawer. They all drank espresso. Cars sloshed through the traffic light on the boulevard outside. Although it was barely past noon, night seemed to be falling, the day so dark the streetlights began to sputter on.

Nina went to the ladies’ bathroom at the end of the hall and took two ibuprofen, washed her face, forced a yawn or two.

When she came back, Wish’s long face told her all she needed to know.

“The police didn’t make it, Nina. Red tape. Ed doesn’t really know why. He couldn’t do anything to stop them himself. They’re at thirty thousand feet by now. I’m sorry.”

Sandy said, “How bad is it?”

Nina said, “I’m going into my office now. And I’m going to think about things. I’ll be back out in fifteen minutes with assignments.” She closed her door, gravitating as always to the window. Mist overspread the marsh leading toward the lake and she could hear rain pouring down the drainpipes, like Raj Das and Silke Kilmer, down the pipes and out.

20

A MAN RANG THE DOORBELL AT ELLIOTT’S house on Vashon Island. Elliott rushed downstairs. His father was coming from the kitchen, walking slowly, having a good day. He held a finger to his lips and his father said, “What’s gotten into you?” but in a whisper.

Peering through the peephole, he saw a stranger in a black windbreaker and jeans on the porch, carrying a clipboard, looking at his father’s roses.

“Yes?” he had opened the door a crack.

“Oh, hi. Mr. Elliott Wakefield?” The man smiled and held out his hand to shake hands, and Elliott said “Uh-huh,” and opened the door wider, automatically polite. Instead of a hand, a manila envelope full of papers came through the door.

“You’vebeenservedwithlegalpapersandyoushouldconsultanattorneyrightaway.” The smile never left his face. He turned and jogged back down the path.

Elliott closed the door.

“Why, El, you’re as white as a sheet,” his father said.

“It’s all right, Pop.”

“Who was that?”

“Just someone bringing me some papers on a consulting job. Pop, listen to me. You have to let me open the door. Don’t answer when I’m not home.”

His father looked stricken. “What is happening?”

“Just-someone is trying to find me. It’s a business thing. We have to be careful.”

“Who was it that called you last night and got you so upset?”

“An associate.” Silke, calling from Germany.

“Are you in trouble with the law? The IRS or something?”

“No.”

“Well? What is it, then? Don’t try to protect me.”

“I have to go to a meeting today,” Elliott said. “In the city. Please. Don’t answer the door when I’m away.”

“Take the ferry to Seattle?” He was tiring. A smell of burning bacon came from the kitchen.

“We’ll have breakfast first.” Pop nodded and went back to his cooking. Elliott showered and shaved, and when he came back down, dressed in a heavy sweater and jeans, he managed to deflect his father’s questions pretty well. He made sure his father was tucked into his favorite chair by the fireplace and that Gloria was on her way before leaving.

He hadn’t even opened the envelope. On the ferry he pulled it out of his backpack. It came from the Law Offices of Nina F. Reilly, Esq. When he read the contents, he groaned.

Now what? Wasn’t it enough that the shooter had tried to kill Silke and Raj, was probably looking for him, and he had to go talk to these corporate honchos today when he wasn’t feeling well?

At the ferry landing he pulled out his Seattle map. The building he needed was right downtown, only a few blocks away, and the day looked clear and cool. He could see the snowcap of Mount Rainier floating in the eastern sky. He walked past the Market and up the hill, turning right at the light. He felt frightened, but he really wanted to hear what these people had to say to him, so he trudged inside and went up to the fourteenth floor, to a law firm.

Oriental rugs. Mahogany reception desk, and a smart-looking receptionist who took his name. Uneasily, knowing he was out of his depth, he sat on the edge of one of the upholstered chairs and stared at the law books crawling up the walls all around. The place could have been empty for all the sound he heard. The receptionist murmured something into her phone, and a few minutes later two men and a woman strolled down the hall toward him.

“Elliott! It’s great to see you again,” Professor Braun said. He had lost weight, and it felt wrong to see him in this setting, but his handshake was firm. “Let me introduce the gentleman who let us borrow his office today, Mr. Phelps.”

“Nice to meet you.” Mr. Phelps had a shiny watch and white cuffs. He was middle-aged and corpulent, his handshake friendly, his eyes guarded.

“And this is Patty Hightower, executive vice president of the firm I consult with, as I mentioned on the phone, Elliott.” Patty Hightower shook his hand. She was awfully young to be a VP, very blond and very slim, wearing pointed high heels. In fact, she was extremely good-looking, and the way she was looking at him made Elliott plunge his hands into his pockets and look away.

“Nice of you to come over today, Elliott,” she said with a smile that showed she understood his thoughts.

“Let’s go in, eh?” They all followed Phelps into a private office with a wall-sized view of the San Juan Islands, boats and ferries dotting dark blue Puget Sound.

“How have you been?” the professor asked when they were seated in the leather chairs surrounding the polished table. “Miss the campus?”

“Uh, I’m fine. Thank you. How are you?”

“Getting along.” The professor had never been a big talker and without a blackboard didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Elliott thought with a start, He’s nervous! Which made Elliott more nervous, which made him wonder why he had ever let the professor talk him into coming over here when so much else was going on. “I’ve told Patty here what a fine student you were, your areas of interest, and XYC is looking for someone like you.”

“So this is-this is a job interview?”

“Not for a job where you’d ever have to leave home, Elliott,” Patty Hightower said. “Not that you wouldn’t be welcome on Route 128 anytime.” She sat down next to him, crossing her legs, which were encased in sheer black stockings. “We’re looking for consultants. Part-time, and you never have to go anywhere.”

“I’m not really looking-”

“People as accomplished as you rarely are. We have to talk to knowledgeable people, like the professor, and find you rather than the other way around.”

“What kind of business is this?”

“Internet security,” Patty Hightower said.

“Like RSA?” RSA was a well-known Internet-security firm.

“Right. We handle financial encryption for some customers you have definitely heard of.”

“What does the name ‘XYC’ come from?”

Patty smiled. “From the x,y axis. Plus ‘Corporation.’ We thought the abbreviation XYC would look good when the stock went public.”

“I mentioned your work regarding factoring large numbers to Patty,” Professor Braun said. “Not in any detail, Elliott. Just the general direction you’re heading in.”

Patty Hightower said, “We’d like to hire you to help us keep the Web safe for credit transactions, Elliott. And for many other purposes.”

“I don’t know a thing about that stuff,” Elliott said. “I do pure math. Combinatorics. Analysis. Number theory. I don’t even have a doctorate.”

“But you have some very promising results, don’t you? An algorithm that efficiently factors large numbers? That predicts the primes? I can hardly believe I’m saying this. It’s been a Holy Grail for mathematics for so long-my field is information technology. But my B.S. is in math. Princeton. I have to congratulate you, Elliott.”