Terminal Value Part 17

Chapter 21.

May 12, 7:00 a.m. Boston A warm, dry breeze floated through the open window of Dylan's bedroom. He rolled onto his back and stretched. He had enjoyed a deep, restful sleep, one he had not experienced in several weeks. His arrival home the evening before had been later than he expected, and he did not call Heather. Now he turned his head and squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Seven o'clock. He stretched again and sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed onto the floor.

He wandered to the window and looked out. The day began warm, but not hot. A nice spring morning, he thought. He hoped it was a sign of things changing. His mind reviewed the many things he had learned, and he felt he had taken a step forward toward determining what had happened to Tony, and why. But who was still the bigger mystery.

Thirty minutes later he stood in the kitchen over a hot griddle, fixing a tangy Mexican omelet while the whole wheat bread sat in the toaster turning a light brown.

He heard the sound of a quiet chime from his laptop. He spun it around on the counter to see the screen and found himself looking in his Gmail inbox at a return address from one There was an attachment, and as Dylan scrolled down, he read Brandon's brief instructions explaining how to download and save it as an executable file. Out of curiosity, he hit "reply" and was not in the least surprised when his attempt bounced back.

The phone rang, and Heather's number appeared on the caller ID screen. He smiled. He knew she would not be able to wait any longer to hear about the trip to Westwood.

"Good morning!" He couched the handset between his left shoulder and ear while he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Indeed, it is. I thought I'd hear from you last night, but when I didn't hear by eleven, I figured you were late getting home. How did it go?"

He smiled as he heard the excitement in her question. "Well, there was one really tense moment, but I'll explain that to you later. This guy is a cross between brilliant and creepy, yet I can see why Tony liked him. He's really paranoid, but from everything Tony told me about him and listening to his story, I can understand why."

"Anything positive come from the meeting?"

"Yes, and he gave me some information on that sketch Tony sent me. It's a draft design of a device for wireless electricity. It isn't complete, but it looks like Tony was on to something big."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. And in the right hands it could be revolutionary!"

"Do you think someone found out about it? Could it be important enough to kill him over?"

"You mean someone at Mantric? Heather, I'm not the technology brain Tony was, but I've got to believe that something like this-h.e.l.l-if someone could make this actually work, electric power companies would kill for it." He stopped and realized what he had just said.

Heather took a deep breath. "Well, that could certainly provide a motive. Do you think Tony told someone at the company about this and they realized its potential?"

"I don't know. It doesn't fit with what's been happening at the firm. First Rich is canned, then Tony is murdered, and now Matt is clinging to his job by a hair. And I'm under attack from Art. But I just received a script from Brandon that will allow me to hack into the company's root directories."

Heather let out a small chuckle. "You? You're going to hack into the company's root directories? Dylan, you may be ultra-smart about business, and you have a good understanding of technology, but I don't think hacking is your strong point. I'm coming over. Make sure the coffee is fresh."

Before he could protest, Heather disconnected the call. Dylan thought about her question. Did this schematic have anything to do with Tony's death? And, if it did, what could he do about it?

His mind flitted over many topics. It gnawed at him that he had been unable to find Tony's final message. That was his job, finding that message. Or rather, finding evidence that would confirm a motive for Tony's death. Should he use Prometheus's script that would allow him access to the root directory of the network? He paced the floor, anxious to share the script with Heather. She was the only one he could talk to who knew Tony had been murdered. He needed her input, her eyes, and her help.

His footsteps echoed on the tile floor as he walked across the kitchen to the fridge. It was a lonely sound-a frightening sound. The desire to call Tony and get his advice on how to handle the situation overwhelmed him, and the knowledge that he would never talk to his friend again brought him to the edge of despondency. He had to shake it off. He had to concentrate. He grabbed the orange juice from the fridge and sat at the table in the breakfast nook. He knew Heather was at least another ten minutes away, and his nerves p.r.i.c.kled his skin. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and speed-dialed Rob.

"Hey," Rob said. "What's going on?"

"I'm sitting in the kitchen with juice and an omelet. Where are you?"

"Actually, I'm at my folks' house. What's up?"

"Not much. You find anything out at your end about Hyperfn?"

"Yeah. I found out a cla.s.smate of mine works at LC. He said the creation and launch of Gazi there seemed to come out of the blue. No one he knew had ever heard anything about it in advance. I'm thinking the problem may have been at Joe's end."

"I don't see how. We registered the site and set it up ourselves. We managed it. Joe's people had no access to the back end of the operation."

"But Dylan, for LC to develop this on its own would have taken at least a year, and folks there would have known about it. I think they could have had a source inside Hyperfn."

Dylan thought for a moment. It was certainly a possibility. "That's true, Rob. That certainly could explain it. But we need to finish looking at all of the possibilities."

"OK. Listen, I'm sorry, but I gotta go."

"No problem. See you tomorrow." Dylan clicked off his phone. He admired Rob for his ability to concentrate and try and figure out any angle to explain the Hyperfn situation. Dylan, on the other hand, lacked concentration; he kept seeing ghosts everywhere he looked.

The doorbell startled him out of his thoughts, and he hurried to the door. Heather held a big bag from Finagle-A-Bagel. In the kitchen, she removed a half-dozen a.s.sorted bagels and cream cheese, then poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Okay. So tell me about this script and your meeting with Mr. Wist." She plopped two bagels on a plate. She eyed the dirty egg dish, looked at Dylan, and smiled.

Dylan set the laptop on the table and showed her Brandon's e-mail and script. He watched her as she leaned in close to the screen. She read the first ten lines and turned to Dylan.

"I think we can do this."

"We?" he asked.

"Well, you're not fast enough on the computer, and your mind is very compartmentalized. You study things before you take any steps. No offense, but you tend to a.n.a.lyze things for too long. I operate more intuitively, and besides, let's not get you fired. If I get fired, I'll land on my feet quicker than you will. Potential employers will think you carry extra baggage, plus Art would probably be harder on you than on me."

They finished breakfast with small talk, each deeper in thought about how to move forward. Then Dylan's computer beeped at him, and Christine's ID bounced on the screen. Dylan looked at Heather, who wiggled her eyebrows and moved behind the computer out of camera view.

"Good morning," Dylan said coolly.

Christine looked peeved. "Dylan, I just received a call from a Detective Baldwin from the BPD."

"Really?" He offered nothing additional.

"She said they are just following a few leads before closing the file on Tony's death."

"Well, I guess they know their business. So Christine, what can I do for you?"

"Did you know anything about this? Did they talk to you?"

"They interviewed me extensively after I found Tony's body, of course."

"They didn't ever give you the impression that his death wasn't an accident, did they?"

"Seriously? No." He met Christine's digital gaze calmly. "Why? What did she say?"

"She says she's just checking to make sure there were no problems with Tony at work."

"Well, that's her job, I suppose."

"She wants to see Tony's computer. She said she'd get a court order if we didn't hand it over."

"I a.s.sume you gave it to her?"

"Of course. I told her we would cooperate in every way."

"Good. Was there anything else?" He antic.i.p.ated there was more to her call than an update on Detective Baldwin's progress.

"There is something," she began.

Dylan glanced toward Heather.

"It's important that you tell your people to cooperate fully with the police. They knew Tony much better than the rest of us, and I'm sure the police will want to interrogate them thoroughly."

Dylan regarded her pinched face. Her use of the word "interrogate" did not slip past him. Her expression was icy, veiled, almost threatening.

"Of course," he said lightly. "I'll make sure they understand."

As Christine reached forward to cut the connection, Dylan saw a reflection in the window behind her head and to one side: Ivan.

He closed the laptop and looked up at Heather. "It's time to get back to New York," he suggested. "Christine was not alone in her office."

"How do you know that?"

"Reflections."

Chapter 22.

May 12, 8:00 p.m. New York Dylan walked into Docks, an always-crowded upscale bar in midtown Manhattan. Suits and skirts packed the bar. Men lingered over Crown Royal on the rocks, being careful not to spill it on their thousand-dollar suits. The women in the bar fell into one of two categories-the successful, and the other. The successful women did not dress off the rack. Their appearance, from five-inch spiked heels to uptown haircuts and make-up, spoke volumes about their success and their choices in both fas.h.i.+on and men. The other women, easier targets, prowled around the men, accepting their offers of a drink-almost always choosing a martini.

Dylan worked his way through the crowd, looking for Heather. He went around one side of the bar, but she wasn't there. Maybe he'd arrived first. Then he looked across the bar to the other side. Four men were huddled around a woman, talking animatedly. He moved to get a view of the woman and then spotted her strawberry-blonde hair.

He made his way through the crowd and around the bar. "Hi, Heather.

"Hey, Dylan," she said with a broad smile and gave him a light kiss. She turned to introduce him to the others, but they quickly glanced at each other and muttered "Nice to have met you." Then they disappeared.

"You made quite the fan club." He noticed a tinge of jealousy in his tone.

"Just a bunch of investment bankers trying to impress me."

"Oh I'm sure," he said lightly.

"Actually I was doing a little bit of free market research."

"Market research?"

"Yeah. I asked them if they'd ever heard of Mantric."

"And?"

"Not only had they heard of us, but the two that cover the technology sector knew everything. They said we had great 'buzz' and they couldn't believe how well our stock was doing."

The hostess greeted them at the dining room and showed them to their table. Dylan pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his clip and asked for a table in the back, far from the noisy bar.

Heather opened her menu. "The seafood here is excellent."

Dylan scanned the menu but had difficulty concentrating. The events of the past few days kept running through his mind like a tape being played over and over.

The waitress appeared and poured water for both of them while reciting the specials of the day. Heather ordered swordfish, and Dylan ordered salmon.

The waitress disappeared, and, just as Dylan was about to speak, his cell phone beeped. He answered, but said nothing. He kept his eyes on Heather as he nodded his head up and down in agreement with whatever his caller said. The call lasted only a moment.

"What was that all about?"

"That was Detective Baldwin. She said they now have Tony's computer." He stared beyond her, deep in thought, then added, "But it's meaningless."

"Why?"

"We already know Ivan got in and probably deleted everything, or at least anything they would consider d.a.m.ning evidence. I saw that in Christine's eyes when she told me the police wanted Tony's computer. Baldwin and her folks won't find anything on it. And if the e-mail Tony sent me was on it, neither will I."

Heather's eyes hardened. "Ivan. That pig," she said, fairly seething.

Dylan's attention wavered. "What is it with you and Ivan? I saw him staring at you at the funeral."

Her expression darkened, and she looked away. "He made a pa.s.s at me, that's all. A very crude, medieval pa.s.s."

"What? When?" Her admission angered Dylan.

"It happened when we first came to Mantric. I remember he asked if I was having a relations.h.i.+p with anyone at MobiCelus, other than friends.h.i.+p. I told him it was none of his business." Her eyes narrowed. "Believe me, I can handle that sort of c.r.a.p." Her anger startled Dylan. "But Ivan won't forget my rejection. I see it in his eyes every time he looks at me. Like he's obsessed or something." She shook her head, then smiled. "So now you know. Let's get back to the issue at hand. How are you going to find Tony's e-mail?"

"If Tony sent it from his computer at the Boston office, Ivan has it now. In fact, he probably intercepted it, which is why I didn't get it in the first place. Brandon brought it to my attention that if Tony was sending me proof Mantric was up to something, like they discovered what he was working on and were going to try to steal it from him, then he must have gotten proof from somewhere. And the most likely place to find it is on the protected servers here in the New York office."

"Okay. I buy that. And by now they're probably destroyed."

"Maybe, maybe not. If they're the sort of files I think they are, they wouldn't be destroyed except on the way out the door."