“Thanks for getting here so quickly,” Claire said.
“You sounded upset,” Sarah replied.
They’d arrived at The Daily Grind simultaneously, and neither had gotten around to ordering. Looking at the ten-deep line, Claire said, “Could we just sit outside?”
“Sure.”
They single-filed to the door, and as soon as they went through the coffee-shop sounds disappeared. The gloom was thickening and a light rain had begun to fall. The patio was vacant, but a naked metal table sat cold beneath an awning. They crossed the glistening tile terrace and took opposing seats in chain-mail chairs. Sarah’s yoga pants were helpless against the frigid metal but thankfully she’d worn a heavy jacket. Water dripped from the awning in rhythmless percussion.
“I’m sorry about this,” Claire said, wiping dew from her cheek with the back of a sleeve. “I’m a little off my game. I’ve never done fieldwork before.”
“Fieldwork?”
“I did what we talked about.”
Sarah stared at her. “You spied on Bryce?”
“Nobody uses that word any more. I surveilled him.”
“How?”
Claire drew the kind of breath people used to compose themselves, long and deep. She explained how she’d tracked Bryce’s whereabouts in recent months, tens of thousands of hits from dozens of sources to build a pattern of his behavior.
Sarah sat stunned. “This system you’ve built … it can do all that?”
“And a lot more. Most of what I saw looked innocuous, but there was one thing that didn’t have an easy explanation.” She told Sarah about the condo.
“I see,” she replied guardedly. “Do you know who lives there?”
“I tasked EPIC to find out who owned the property, but no luck. That’s suspicious in itself. The place was purchased last year through a series of shell companies; the kind of smoke and mirrors people use to conceal ownership.”
“So … what does that mean? Are you saying Bryce bought this place secretly?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of it. But I can tell you one thing for certain—aside from Bryce, only one other person has been there in the last six months.”
Sarah’s hands gripped the chair’s cold steel arms. A death-row inmate waiting for the jolt.
“A man visited twice.”
“A man,” Sarah said repeated.
“I got a look at him on some video. He looked like a delivery guy, hauling boxes of office supplies and some light furniture into the place.”
“Well, that’s good … maybe Bryce is only using it as an office.”
“He already has an office.”
The rain turned steady, its broken rhythm going to static. The wind began rising. As the awning became saturated, its natural jade hue went to a dark evergreen.
“All right,” Sarah said, in a tone that added Miss Know-it-all. “What do you think he’s doing there?”
Claire stared into the gloom. She was obviously rattled.
“What’s got you so flustered?” Sarah asked.
“I went to take a look this afternoon.”
“You went to this place? Why?”
“I wanted to see it firsthand, maybe find some detail I was missing online. Like a camera that wasn’t showing up on EPIC, or a home security system I could hack.”
“Okay. So what did you find?”
“It wasn’t so much what I found as … as what found me. A car started following me.”
Sarah’s tone turned cautious. “How do you know that?”
“Look, I’m not trained in this kind of thing, but it was obvious.” She explained how she’d spotted the car, how it had shadowed her. Then she explained how Atticus had intervened.
For the first time ever, Sarah found herself doubting Claire. “You’re saying this EPIC thing can control traffic lights? Even cause accidents?”
“It’s not exactly our crowning achievement, but yes. The hack is actually simple. Certain traffic lights are Wi-Fi enabled, a way for the city to manage traffic flows. Some of them don’t even require passwords to gain access.”
“You caused this car to crash.”
“Atticus … or actually EPIC … look, it was like bumper cars. Not a big deal. A dent to a couple of fenders, maybe one city bus involved.”
“A city bus?” Sarah repeated, dumbfounded. “And here I thought you were some plodding government researcher, all soft chairs and cubicles.”
“It worked, okay? It got the guy off my ass. Atticus is trying to identify the car and driver.”
“I probably shouldn’t ask, but how?”
“He’ll start with traffic camera footage, get the license plate. With any luck, a preliminary accident report will get filed soon by the Metro Police.”
“You can see that?”
“I told you, EPIC has access to virtually every government database. Chances are, there’ll be an insurance claim as well.”
Sarah considered that. “Insurance company files aren’t government databases. Are you saying EPIC can penetrate private companies too?”
“I’m saying that given enough time, we’ll know who was tailing me.”
Sarah shook her head, as if everything Claire was telling her was clogging her brain. She checked her watch. “Look, I’ve got to get going. I’m supposed to take Alyssa to a friend’s house for a sleepover.”
“That’s perfect.”
“Perfect? Why?”
“Sarah, something strange is going on here.”
Sarah’s lips parted briefly, but no argument came.
“Whatever it is, we need to get to the bottom of it.”
The editor in Sarah noted the first-person plural usage. Realizing no red pen would save her, she asked, “How?”
Claire told her.
“No.”
“Yes, Sarah. There’s no other way. And it’s got to be now!”
The first Monmouth national poll declaring Bryce Ridgeway to be the overwhelming Republican front-runner came out shortly after three that afternoon. It registered instantaneously in Charleston, where Bryce had just finished a speech on health care.
In a back room of the Charleston Convention Center a spontaneous party broke out. Bryce’s travel team nibbled canapés and tipped back light drinks. Backs were slapped and fists bumped. Through it all, the candidate kept an admirably even keel. Dressed in khaki pants, and with the sleeves of his oxford shirt rolled up in swashbuckling fashion, he gave an impromptu speech to his staff. He began with thanks, shifted to caution, and ended with a stirring demand for everyone to work harder in the pursuit of their mission. That was increasingly how he hued the campaign, both internally and on stage—a military operation with hard objectives, threats to be engaged. By the time everyone boarded the bus, headed for the airport and a flight to New Hampshire, the mood was nothing short of ebullient.
The Monmouth poll also registered on the third floor of the FBI’s Washington Field Office. Burke saw a scrolling banner on the TV in the break room as he was heating a vending machine pocket sandwich in the microwave. Back at his desk he mentioned it to Alves, who gave him a disapproving look. He wasn’t sure if she was reacting to the news or his dinner.
“Stop!”
Sarah’s head snapped forward as Alyssa slammed on the brakes. The little Toyota Camry stopped on a dime, its nose rocking down a few feet short of the intersection.
“What did I do?” Alyssa asked.
Under the racket of the wipers beating back and forth, Sarah pointed to a stop sign through the side window.
“Oh, crap! I never saw it.”
“It’s okay,” Sarah said. “The rain makes it harder.”
After an extended look in every direction, Alyssa set back out at a snail’s pace.
She’d been driving for a few months, but still lacked confidence. They’d been keeping to less busy streets, daytime only.
“When is Dad coming home again?” Alyssa asked.
Sarah hesitated to distract her daughter with conversation. On the other hand, she supposed it was part of the learning process. “He said he might get back for a day or two later in the week.”
“It seems like he’s never home anymore.”
“I know, honey, but that’s part of running for president. Honestly, it won’t get better anytime soon. Certainly not if he wins.”
Silence from the driver’s seat.
“Are you still okay with that?” Sarah asked. “Your dad being president?”
“I guess. Are you?”
It was a perfectly simple question, but for Sarah one that generated a host of others. All of which were far more complex. What was Bryce doing at that condo? Why am I plotting with Claire to find out? And most damning of all: Can I still trust my husband?
“Mom?”
Sarah returned to the here and now. “It’s tough, Aly,” she said. “But I support your father, no matter what.”
Minutes later Alyssa pulled to a cautious stop in front of Ruby’s house—her bestie since middle school.
Sarah said, “I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow. Text me if it changes.”
“Okay. What are you doing tonight?”
“Oh, I’ll probably dive into some editing.”
“Don’t get boring just because Dad isn’t here.”
Sarah actually smiled. “Boring is highly underrated.” She gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek. “Bye, baby.”
Alyssa bustled out of the car and dashed through the rain to the front door.