Changing of the Guard

22

Natadze waited until the target was in the shower before disabling the magnetic alarm sensor at the back door. He used a powerful rare-earth magnet he’d taken from the head of an electric toothbrush, sliding it between the top of the door and the inset switch mounted in the top of the jamb. The magnet would prevent the switch in the sensor from triggering when he opened the door. The setup was standard, easily defeatable with the right equipment. The PDA he carried was more than it seemed; it had a magnetometer and both an ultrasonic and an infrared sensor. Between the three he could ID most alarm triggers.

When going after a bear in his own den, one of the most important factors was the timing: It was best to catch them in a vulnerable state. Sleeping was good. In the shower was good. A tiny microphone near the water meter had alerted him about the shower.

Of course the target didn’t know he was being watched. He probably felt he’d done enough to stay out of Cox’s grasp. With an alarm system, he probably believed that he would be safe in his own house. Well, if he thought so, he was wrong, as those who thought the world was a safe place usually were.

Especially those who should know better.

The lock was simple, a standard Yale model, an easy pick. He used a torsion tool and a vibrating pick gun, and it was but a matter of fifteen seconds before he opened the door, scanning in front of him with the PDA.

The room was clean, no sensors waiting for him. He was in.

Spycraft had appartenly fallen on hard times. It should not be this easy.

Then again, Natadze told himself, maybe it wasn’t this easy. Maybe the target had tricks yet to play. The most diabolical man Natadze had ever known had been a Russian. It did not pay to generalize about such things, of course, either way, but it did pay to move with caution. Overconfidence was a killer. A simple alarm and lock might be ways to gull someone like Natadze, who, feeling cocky, would pay for it with his life.

He needed this, especially after his failure with Gridley. He needed a challenge. Most of all, though, he needed to succeed.

He was sure the target knew where the data were. In the information age, erasing backups could make that-which-had-been into that-which-never-was. He would not fail Cox again. If he was to succeed, he would have to move with care.

Now was the time to be the most precise. Like the intricate fingerwork of a long solo, every motion, every step needed to be just so. Even though he could still hear the shower, it didn’t mean the target couldn’t be alerted very quickly, or arm himself. The other half of knowing when to strike was understanding your own weakness: Realizing his vulnerability in the shower, the man might well have put some kind of weapon or warning system in place. Or both. Natadze did. He set both an IR and a motion sensor alarm when he was occupied at home to the extent he might not see or hear a prowler enter. He kept a Glock in a plastic bag in his own shower, kept another pistol at hand when he was on the toilet, and slept with a gun under his pillow. Once, during an electrical storm, a nearby lightning strike and blast of thunder had caused a window to shatter in his bedroom. He had very nearly put a bullet through the broken pane before he came fully awake. Only years of making certain of a target before pulling the trigger saved his neighbor’s house from an errant round.

He walked carefully, feet close to the walls to be sure he didn’t cause the floor to squeak.

The bathroom door was just ahead, the sound of the shower louder now.

The door was open slightly, and Natadze used a tiny fiber-optic lens to peer around the gap. Should the target be looking, he would see only the tiny end of a glass fiber, almost invisible. The shower door was frosted glass, inside a tiled enclosure. There was no sign of anything else, anything to worry about. Clouds of vapor rose and flowed along the ceiling.

Still in there.

Was the man singing?

No matter. There would never be a better time.

He crept into the bathroom, quiet and smooth. Before the target could sense the change in air pressure in the room, he leveled his Korth at the shower and yanked the glass door open.

The man was old, very pale, covered in soap suds, liver spots and saggy flesh making for a most uninspiring picture.

I hope I go out better than this.

The Russian jumped. To give him credit, though, the man didn’t scream, faint, or attempt to run. He merely sighed slightly and wiped some soap from his face.

He muttered something in Russian. Eduard lost most of it in the noise of the running water but it didn’t sound much like a warm greeting.

Natadze nodded. He pulled the towel from the rack with one hand, keeping his gun rock-steady with the other.

“Dry yourself,” he said. “We need to talk, you and I.”

John Howard talked to the Net Force guard outside Jay’s hospital room. One of four who were on duty at all times guarding Jay, he was the one people were supposed to see, perched on a chair in his uniform. Another guard, in a hospital gown and bathrobe and pushing an IV roller stand up and down the hall, was considerably less conspicuous, if no less well-trained and armed. There were two more guards in strategic locations on the floor who were, for all intents and purposes, invisible, using electronics for their surveillance. Anybody who wanted to pay a visit to Gridley and who wasn’t cleared wasn’t going to make it.

So far, no one who wasn’t supposed to be there had made any attempt to get into Jay’s room, but none of the Net Force personnel had relaxed their guard in the slightest.

Behind Howard, Alex Michaels waited. When Howard had finished talking to the guard, he turned back to his ex-boss.

“All quiet on the Gridley front?” Michaels asked.

“Actually, he’s talking up a storm. And even if somebody got past our people, Toni is still in there, right?”

Michaels smiled. “Oh, yeah.”

Howard said, “You and she heading off soon?”

“We’ll stick around until they let Jay go home. Doctor said a couple days.”

“It was good of you to stay.”

Michaels shrugged.

Howard said, “I talked to Thorn while you were in visiting. He’s on his way over. He’s also got a theory about why Jay got hit. He thinks it was the file the Turks gave us.”

“The Soviet spy list?”

“Yes. The revelations were moving toward the U.S. He thinks maybe one of the moles might have gotten wind of it somehow.”

“That would be a trick in itself.”

It was Howard’s turn to shrug. “Turkish security might not be as good as Net Force’s, and the Russians are still selling everything that isn’t nailed down — and some stuff that is. Maybe that information was valuable to somebody here.”

“A Soviet mole who didn’t want to be outed?”

Howard nodded. “Makes as much sense as anything else. We ran checks on the violent bad guys we’ve put away in the last couple of years. Anybody Jay took down who would likely be ticked off enough to want to shoot him is still in prison, as near as I can tell.”

“We didn’t get them all,” Alex said. “Remember CyberNation?”

Howard frowned. “I remember. The scar still itches when it gets hot and sunny. But they would probably try to hit you or me; we were a lot higher on that list.”

“Yeah. So what is Thorn doing about it?”

Howard shook his head. “Computer things. Digging in Jay’s files, looking for clues. He’ll probably be happy to have Gridley back in harness to help out — Jay will know more about his own stuff.”

“You’ll be keeping him guarded?”

“Of course. In addition to these guys, we’ve already got sub rosa people on Jay’s place. He won’t go anywhere without an armed Net Force shadow until we get this cleared. That goes for his wife, too.”

“Interesting that Saji is pregnant.”

Howard smiled. “That it is.”

“From what Toni said, those were the first words out of Jay’s mouth when he woke up.”

“Good for him. Hard to think of Jay Gridley as a father, though.”

“It ought to settle him down some. Teach him some patience.”

Howard and Michaels both grinned. Kids did that, no question.