The bookstore seemed crowded to Judith even though the clock had yet to reach 1:00. The seductive aroma of books and coffee filled the Barnes & Noble. They had arrived five minutes earlier after taking the most circuitous route from the park Judith had ever traveled. Luke explained that he wanted to know if they were being followed so what should have been less than a fifteen-minute drive up Archibald Avenue to Foothill Boulevard had turned into a forty-five-minute trek through a half dozen side streets, a dozen U-turns, and a short trip up the I-15 and back south again. Normally a comfortable traveler, Judith’s stomach began to complain about Luke’s driving. She breathed a sigh of relief when they pulled into the parking lot of the B&N.
“Why here?”
“Because it’s public, because it has more than one exit, because it’s noisy, and because people in bookstores don’t bother other people in bookstores.”
She wasn’t sure she believed the last part. When they exited Luke’s Volvo, he walked to the trunk and removed a computer bag.
“Have computer, will travel?” Judith quipped.
“Never leave home without it.”
“Always ready to trade a little stock, is that it?”
“Partly.”
He led the way through the parking lot and into the store. In the corner stood a coffee shop. Luke plowed through the other patrons and took up residence at a table in the corner. He sat with the wall to his back. “Vanilla latte, extra shot.”
Judith blinked several times. “Excuse me?”
“We have to blend in. They serve coffee here so we should be drinking coffee.”
“And you want me to fetch it for you?”
“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”
She wondered if the flush she felt was noticeable. “Did we get married while we were out? I think I may have missed that.”
“Oh, stop. This isn’t a sexist thing. I have to crank up the computer. You can sit and watch me, or you can contribute to the cause and pick up a couple of coffees. You want me to pay for it?”
“I think I can handle it.”
The line moved quickly, and Judith returned in less than five minutes with Luke’s latte in one hand and a mocha in the other. The latter she considered a concession to the stress of the day.
“You didn’t start without me, did you?” She set Luke’s coffee next to the computer. He took it and sipped.
“No. Come sit next to me.” He pulled a chair to his right. She hesitated. “Do you want to see this with your own eyes or would you prefer I describe everything to you?”
Judith moved to the chair and sat shoulder to shoulder with Luke. On the table rested Luke’s HP laptop; the screen showed a small photo of Theodore Roosevelt, mouth open, jaw tight, teeth bared, and pince-nez eyeglasses perched on his nose. The quote read, “With self-discipline, all things are possible. Without it, even the simplest goal can seem like the impossible dream.”
“Teddy Roosevelt?”
“He preferred TR, and yes, I’m a fan.” Luke inserted the memory device from the envelope into a USB port on the side of the laptop. A moment later, a window opened listing all the files on the flash memory.
Judith bent closer. “A single document file and a photo file. Which should we open first?”
“I’m having second thoughts.” Luke took his hands from the keyboard and leaned back. “I don’t know what’s in those files. There could be something that would destroy all the information on my computer.”
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Judith snapped. “Why go this far only to back out now?”
“I have a lot of work on this machine. For all I know, there’s a worm or virus in those files that will snatch everything and send it to someone over the Internet.”
“Are you connected to the Net?”
“I don’t have to be. The right malware program could log itself on. I mean, we’re dealing with a pretty sophisticated guy here. The cell phones, the computerized voice, the use of who-knows-what-kind of surveillance.”
“Look, Luke, I’m no computer genius, but I use one every day. Designs come to me in computer files. My business is fully wired, so I know a couple of things. First, you’re not on the Net right now. I imagine this place has a wireless hookup, but you’d have to sign in to use it, right? There’s a cost to using the ser vice.”
“True.”
Judith continued. “Besides, I’ll bet you can turn off the wireless device in your computer with that button.” She pointed at a button near the base of the screen with a glowing antenna icon. “Nothing can get out if the wireless is turned off. And you seem far too — ” she started to say paranoid but instead finished with — “cautious to not have everything of importance backed up. Am I right?”
He nodded but said nothing.
“Okay, let’s get down to brass tacks, Luke. You’re not worried about someone sabotaging your computer; you’re concerned that the file on the screen has your secret in it.”
“Aren’t you worried about the same thing?”
“Yes, but what are our choices? So far we’ve assumed that whoever is pulling our strings knows our secrets, so if we don’t follow through, word will get out anyway. He’ll see to it. Not to mention that a life is at stake.”
“We think there’s a life at stake. We have no proof of that.”
“Yet here we sit.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Proof or disproof may be in those files.”
Luke smiled.
“That’s a switch. What’s got you grinning?”
“I once read that Noel Coward sent telegrams to a group of well-known members of London society. The telegram read, ‘I know what you did. If I were you, I’d leave town.’ They all left. It was a joke, but apparently, they all had guilty consciences.”
“Everyone feels guilty about something,” Judith said.
“Yeah, but not everyone stands to have their secret told to the world.”
“Just open the file.”
Luke straightened, returned his hands to the keyboard, and selected the document file.
“Uh-oh,” Luke said.
On the screen was a small window that read, “Please Log In.”
Nonplussed, Judith said, “It wants a password?”
“It seems so.”
“Did the caller give you a password?”
“No,” Luke admitted. He punched a single key several times. “It seems the password is six digits long.”
“That could be anything. There must be hundreds of possible combinations.”
“More like millions.”
“Why would he hide the info behind a password?”
Luke sighed. “Maybe he’s being cautious. Hiding this under the ballpark bench left a couple of variables open. There would be a short time between when the package was left and we arrived, otherwise we might have seen who left it.”
“And during those few minutes someone could have stumbled upon the envelope.” Judith thought for a moment. “He’s thought of everything. At least if someone had gotten hold of it, they wouldn’t be able to crack the password. Of course, now we have the same problem.”
“It would be something that we know,” Luke said. “Something that we could figure out but no one else could.” He rubbed his chin. “When you got your call, did the voice mention any names or numbers?”
“No … wait. Yes. A date. February 27.”
“2-2-7? What about a year?”
“No mention of a year.”
“But you know the year, don’t you?”
Judith paused. Of course she knew the year of her secret. She would have preferred to have forgotten it, but that wasn’t going to happen. “1984.”
“2-2-7-1-9-8-4. No good. That’s seven numbers.”
“Drop the nineteen.”
“Then that leaves only five numbers. Well … maybe this way: 022784.” He entered the numbers. An error message told them the password was invalid.
“What about you?” Judith gazed at Luke. “You said the caller knew your secret. Did he use a date with you?”
“Yes.” The admission came slowly. “May 30.”
“Try it.”
Luke combined the numbers and typed 530227. Again an error message.
“What time did you get your call?” Judith pressed.
“I don’t remember. Maybe 9:45, or something like that.”
Judith thought. “Mine came a little earlier. About 9:30. Put my date first.”
Again Luke’s fingers pressed keys: 227530. He hit the Enter key.
The file opened.
Judith’s phone rang.