Dick’s letter of resignation takes five minutes to write, but destroying every trace of Freeway takes most of the afternoon. He smiles as he pours the vials down the drain and washes away the evidence.
The advantage to being low man on the totem pole is that Dick didn’t have an assistant or anyone looking over his shoulder. He’s the only one who understands how and why the drug works, and its molecular code is unique as a fingerprint. The chemistry that makes the drug work only exists in two places, Dick’s head and his laptop at home.
When he’s certain there’s not a trace of Freeway left to be found, he packs up a file box with his personal belongings and places the letter of resignation on his keyboard.
When he gets to his apartment, he backs up the Freeway files from his laptop twice onto two separate thumb drives, then scrubs the hard drive clean. The computer questions and warns him several times before following the command. The first thumb drive he puts behind the switch plate beside the door, the second he drops in his pocket.
He drives to the Goodwill store and leaves the laptop in the electronics donation box. The data’s erased, but he doesn’t want to take the chance it can somehow be recovered.
At the office supply store down the street, he buys a new laptop and mails the second thumb drive to Dee. The note that accompanies it reads:
Dear Dee:
Please put this with Papa’s things.
Thanks, Dick
Dick’s grandfather had installed a safe under the cinderblock bench in the cellar. Along with an assortment of militia artillery and ammunition are a few military bonds and the birth certificates and documentation of the Raynes family for several generations.
The past and the future in a safe beneath the desert.