Cammy stared at her living room in stunned silence. Taupe cushions from her chenille sofa were all over the floor. Cabinet doors were open. Books had been pulled from the shelves and scattered over her carpet like shells on a storm-tossed beach. A lamp was knocked over. Even the painting of the Golden Gate Bridge hanging over the fireplace was askew. A pair of tall Ficus trees stood sentry in the corners, the only objects in an upright position. She held her breath as she took a first tentative step across the threshold.
She listened intently, her heart pounding. Nothing. She cautiously made her way into the kitchen where cabinet doors were askew. She opened a drawer and gave a small sigh of relief when she saw her grandmother’s sterling silver still lined up inside.
She turned around and walked into her bedroom. Her closet door was open. Hangars had been pushed aside. Her bed was torn apart and her computer was . . . gone. Damn! Why would somebody steal a computer that could only be hocked for a couple hundred dollars and not take the silver that’s worth thousands? Kids maybe? Not druggies. They’d know better what they could fence.
She suddenly turned towards the bathroom. What if? No. Nobody’s hiding behind the shower curtain. This isn’t a Grade B movie. This is my life. And right now, my life is a disaster.
She looked around again, studying the scene, analyzing whether anything else was missing. She didn’t think so. She reached for the phone. No. Better not touch anything. Maybe the cops can find some fingerprints.
She backed out of the bedroom, turned toward the front door, pulled her cell phone out of her shoulder bag and punched in some numbers.
“Mel? I’ve got a problem here. Can I come up?”
“Problem? What’s wrong?”
“Somebody broke into my apartment.”
“On no,” her friend cried out. “And you’re down there alone?”
“Whoever did it is probably long gone.”
“But how do you know? Maybe he’s still here in the building. We should call the police.”
“I know. I know. I want to think first. I don’t want to touch anything down here right now. I’m coming up there, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. But geez! I can’t believe somebody got into our building.”
“That part doesn’t surprise me,” Cammy said. “Our security here isn’t exactly high tech. I’m on my way up.”
Melanie was waiting in the doorway when Cammy got off the elevator. “This is awful! I never heard of any burglars in this building. What did they take?”
“My computer.”
“That’s all?” Melanie asked, leading the way inside and motioning for Cammy to sit down at her kitchen table.
“I think so, but whoever did it really trashed the place.”
“How bad is it?”
Cammy signed. “At this point, it could be designated a Superfund site.”
“Oh Lord! What about your jewelry or your silver?”
“Silver’s still there,” Cammy said, settling into the oak wood chair. “I didn’t take time to look for the jewelry. But if he didn’t take the silver . . .” she paused. “You know, it’s weird, isn’t it? Why would somebody only take my computer . . . unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
“Unless he wanted what was in my mind and not what was in my drawers . . . so to speak,” she added with a half laugh.
“How can you be so calm at a time like this?” Melanie asked. “Aren’t you going to call the cops?”
“Probably. In a minute. It’s just that . . . you know those lectures we get all the time at the office about our classified projects and industrial espionage?”
“Well, sure, but look, Cam, you’re still upset about the Ken-doll, aren’t you? Just because some schmuck tries to use you to figure out what you’re up to with your project and maybe steal it, that doesn’t mean that some burglar is also trying to steal Q-3.”
“I don’t know. And no, I don’t mean Ken, although one thing he did do when he left was put me on my guard.”
“Trouble is, when he left you, you left the field.”
“What field?”
“The male field. You haven’t let another man come near you since that guy played his little game.”
“So? Once burned, twice shy and all of that. But this isn’t the time to discuss my love life, or lack of one. What I’m worried about is my professional life. The question is—could someone be trying to get a line on Q-3 or anything else we’re working on? That’s what worries me right now.”
“You don’t keep anything classified on your home computer, for Lord sakes,” Mel said.
“Of course not. But not everybody would know that.”
“Anybody with half a brain would know that.”
“Don’t be too sure. Remember that CIA guy who got caught with secret documents on his computer in Virginia, and all the stuff Hillary had on her home computer too?”
“Oh yeah. Guess you’re right. So are you going to call the police or what?” Mel asked.
“I may have a better idea.”
“You must be Melanie,” Hunt said, stepping through the door.
“That would be me.”
He walked in and extended his hand. “I’m Hunt Daniels.”
“And I’m impressed,” Mel said as she shook his hand.
Cammy came out of the kitchen. “Hunt, thanks for coming over. I wasn’t sure if I should call you, but . . .”
“No problem. Fact is, you’re working on a classified project that we think is pretty important and any trouble . . .”
“We?” she interrupted.
“I’ve briefed our guys on this, and they told me to keep an eye on it. So that’s what I’m doing. Tell me about the break-in.”
“Wait a minute,” Mel said. “You guys want something to eat before you go play Sherlock?”
Cammy shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry now. Maybe later.”
“Right now I think we’d better go assess the damage,” Hunt said.
“Want some help?” Melanie asked.
“No, that’s okay,” Cammy answered quickly.
“Well, when you figure it out, come on back up and I’ll fix you something.”
“I don’t know how long we’ll be. But thanks. I’ll call you,” she said.
Cammy had always been comfortable in her apartment with its tall ceilings, antiques, English country chairs and green plants. The whole effect was meant to be a quiet retreat. A total contrast to her edgy computerized office space that looked more like a Sharper Image store than a homey workplace. But as she opened the door for Hunt, it was obvious that this wouldn’t be any kind of retreat for quite some time.
“Oh shit!” Hunt muttered, as he eyed the chaos. “Place looks like Medusa.” Cammy absently straightened her headband and began to walk around the room. Hunt gingerly stepped over a pile of science textbooks. Looking down he asked, “What’s with these? Did you keep them from grammar school?”
“No,” she replied. “I tutor kids in science sometimes.”
“Oh. Good move.” He walked back to her bedroom and saw that there were shoes tossed from the open closet. “Did you have any jewelry or anything valuable in here?”
“Just a few pieces from my grandmother’s estate. I had them in a box up there,” she said, gesturing toward the closet.
“Check it,” he ordered.
She looked up at the shelves. Several boxes had been moved around. She reached for the one labeled “High School Yearbooks.” She held her breath as she pulled it down and lifted the lid. Inside the box, right next to the book from her junior year, was the little jewelry case. The ruby earrings and bracelet were still inside. “They’re right here,” she said with a sigh. “At least he didn’t get these.”
Hunt took a look at the jewels. “Pretty snazzy. Better put them back. Wouldn’t want to lose those.”
“You’re right,” she said as she returned them to their hiding place.
“So, is there anything missing besides your computer? Anything at all?”
She surveyed the rooms once more. I don’t think so,” she said evenly.
“Okay. They just took the computer. What did you have on it? Anything to do with your work?”
“Q-3? God no! That’s classified.”
“I know that. But did you have any notes? Anything that could tie you to the project?”
“No, nothing. I keep all of that at the office.”
“So what was on it?”
“Well, I had personal stuff. Email, pictures. And my Quicken. I do all of my bills on line, and it has my records, my tax files, my bank accounts.”
“You’ve got good passwords for everything?”
What’s the matter with this guy, she wondered. Does he think I’m clueless? I work with computers and passwords all day long.
“Of course,” she said. “And I’ve got a good firewall program too. I’ve got a restricted access program.”
“How does it work?”
So Mr. know-it-all doesn’t really.
“I have this gadget. I keep it on my key chain.”
“So what does it do?”
“I put my thumb on it. It recognizes my thumb print and nobody else’s. And if it’s mine, then it unlocks my computer, so to speak, and lets me use it.”
“What if you lose the gadget?” he asked.
“Whoever had it wouldn’t have my thumb print, and the computer will only react to mine.”
He raked his fingers through his hair and thought for a moment. “Wait. You said it unlocks your computer. What if this guy removes the hard disk and puts it into his own computer?”
“I’ve got that covered too,” she said, stepping over some of the shoes. “A while ago, I got a patent on another idea. If anybody tries to unscrew it or take out the hard disk without my password, it fries itself.”
“Sounds like the old self-destruct tape on Mission Impossible. Did you ever hear about that show? They’ve aired some newer versions.”
“Never seen those. Anyway, whoever stole my computer isn’t going to get anywhere.”
“You can bet he’ll spend a lot of time trying though.”
She turned to face him. “What do you really think this is all about?”
“I can’t say exactly. But there’s a lot going on, here and overseas, with all kinds of people trying to get a handle on missile defense projects.”
“I know. I’ve been doing research for ages.”
“And now you’re working on a new project that could put a lot of the boys with the missiles out of business, so to speak.”
“And so you think this is an act of industrial espionage where someone’s trying to steal my idea?”
“Steal it or stop you maybe. It could be someone from another company, or it could be agents from some other country trying to get their hands on your system for their own use.”
Cammy slumped down in a chair, a sliver of fear creeping up her spine. He seemed to know a lot about this. What wasn’t he telling her? “So you think that I’m the target of some scheme and this was not just a random burglary?”
“Could be. This was probably just their first stop. If they hit pay dirt here, they wouldn’t have to try to hack into Bandaq.”
“They’d never be able to do that,” she said confidently. “If you think I’ve got a good firewall here, you should see what we’ve got over there.” She thought for a moment, then added, “Of course, I’ll have to notify our Internal Control Officer first thing tomorrow. I’m not going to call him tonight.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I said I’d wait,” she snapped. “Besides, he can’t do anything about it tonight anyway.”
“Okay. But look, this is important. I don’t want to tell the police that you’re working on a classified project. We don’t need this plastered all over the newspapers. One article was enough.”
“I haven’t called them yet. I was hoping you might know someone who could handle this. I mean, if it is espionage, what about the FBI or CIA?”
“I do know a few people who might be interested, but for starters, we’d better call the police and get them to dust for prints and see if there’s anything else they can find. We just can’t tell them what you’re working on.”
She reached for her purse on a side table and fished out her cell phone again. “I’ll do it.”
At the loud knock on the door, they both jumped up from the kitchen stools and rushed to open it. Cammy gave the officers her story and stood aside while the team scoured the place for prints and clues. She answered questions, filled out forms and offered the men a cup of coffee.
After the officers examined every piece of furniture, drawer and hangar, they politely withdrew, leaving information on whom to call if Cammy had any other type of trouble or discovered that anything else was missing. They also told her to install a dead bolt.
“Oh God! We never called Melanie,” Cammy said as she reached for the kitchen phone. She dialed the number. “Mel, it’s me. The police came and looked around. They’re gone now.”
“I was just thinking, why don’t you sleep up here tonight? Just bring some clothes and your toothbrush or something.”
“Thanks. I may have to do that.”
She turned to Hunt. “She wants me to stay up there with her tonight.”
“Woman was reading my mind. There’s no way you should stay here tonight.”
Cammy glanced around the kitchen, then up at the wall clock. It was ten after ten. In the midst of the chaos, she had an odd thought. “Did you ever notice how every ad for every clock or expensive watch always shows the time as ten after ten?”
Hunt followed her gaze. “Ten after ten? What do you mean?”
“It makes a smiley face. They probably always want their products to look happy. Rather ironic.”
“Ironic because we’re not smiling?”
“Not much to smile about around this place,” she said with a despairing glance. “I really should clean things up.” She started to close the cabinets when Hunt grabbed her arm.
“You can do that later.”
Why is this guy always ordering me around? I have enough men doing that at the office, she thought. “Look, I appreciate your coming over here. I called because I thought maybe you could suggest some federal agents who could look into this, but I . . .”
Hunt took another look around and frowned. ‘I said I might, but it’ll take a while. And until we figure out if this guy’s coming back, you’d better get the hell out of here.”