Red Right Hand

27.

WHAT’S THE word, kid?”

“The word is ninja,” Cameron replied, excitement raising the pitch of her voice. “As in, I am one.”

“Come again?”

“We got a hit.”

Adrenaline surged through Hendricks’s system like a drug, spreading warm and tingly through his limbs. He felt lighter, suddenly, more present, his aches, pains, and exhaustion chemically erased. “Your, uh, programs decoded a call or whatever?”

“Aw. It’s cute when you pretend you have the faintest idea what you’re talking about. But yeah, they found something, and it’s way better than a phone call, it’s a text. Well, two, to be exact.”

“How’s that better?”

“Because the first one included a pic. I’m sending you the details now.”

His phone vibrated. He clicked the notification, and his text app opened. No names, just phone numbers. The first message read: POI acquired. Awaiting instructions. The attached photo was of the old man from the video, bound and bloodied on a couch. There was a woman beside him, bound as well. Men in body armor stood guard on either side of them, their heads cropped from the shot. The second message said: On my way. Time stamps indicated the second message had been sent less than two minutes ago.

“You get ’em?” Cameron asked.

“Yeah, kid. I got ’em. You did good-this is amazing work.”

“Thanks,” she said. She tried to toss it off all casual-like, but Hendricks could practically hear her blushing. “What’s a POI?”

“Person of interest,” he said. “Hey, what can you tell me about these guys besides their phone numbers?”

“Nothing,” she said, “and not for lack of trying. Those phones are encrypted six ways from Sunday.”

“Can you find out the point of origin for the text?”

“No-at least, not digitally. Since the phone’s encryption prevents me from accessing its GPS, the best that I could tell you is the cell tower it went through, and we already know which tower it went through, or we never would’ve intercepted it.”

“I sense a but. We don’t have time for dramatic pauses, kid. If you’ve got something, just say so.”

“I’m not trying to be dramatic. I’m multitasking.”

“Meaning what?”

“Take a good look at that picture. Tell me what you see. Besides the guys, I mean.”

“I dunno. A couch?”

“Sure, a couch. Also a fireplace, hardwood floors, distinctive molding, and what looks like a covered farmer’s porch outside the window.”

“Okay-but what good does that do us?”

“None of the houses on the Presidio are privately owned. They’re all rented from the Presidio Trust. I’m on their website now. They’ve got pics of all their housing broken down by style and neighborhood.”

“Good thought,” he said, “but the Presidio is an old army base. There must be dozens of houses that match that description. I walked through neighborhood after neighborhood of identical homes on my way here.”

“You’d think, but as it turns out, your boy Segreti has refined taste. Because I’m pretty sure I just found the place where they caught up with him, and there’s only four like it on the whole base.”

“You got any idea which one he’s in?”

“No, but it looks like they’re all clumped together, two on either side of Presidio Boulevard where it intersects with Funston.”

Hendricks opened Google Maps. “That’s almost a mile from my position. I need to get moving. And we’re gonna have to disconnect, so you’ll be on your own a little while.”

“Why?”

“Because these guys don’t look like mob goons; they look like law enforcement. And I need to make a phone call to see if I can find out who sent them.”

“Law enforcement? That, uh, jibes with something I heard earlier,” Cameron said.

“Which is?”

“The girl from the video-Hannah Reston-told me a Fed came by her brother’s room super-early this morning and talked to her dad. Said the guy was gross. Winked at her and everything. Anyway, he asked a bunch of questions about our guy and leaned on her dad hard for answers. Sounds to me like the dad was pretty rattled by the whole experience. I had Hannah push a little, see what else she could find out, but her dad got pissed and snapped at her, told her to leave it be. She said it’s not like him to yell.”

“Wait-you talked to the Restons? What the hell were you thinking? I told you not to go anywhere near them!”

“Relax. I talked to Hannah in the hospital’s restroom, girl to girl. Made up some story about the guy being my granddad. Said my family’s trying to find him but we need to keep it on the down-low because he’s technically an illegal. Met my grandma when he came over from Italy for college and stayed but never filed the proper paperwork. She bought it, hook, line, and sinker. Thinks she’s digging in the name of love. Her parents don’t even know I’m here.”

“Wait, what do you mean, they don’t even know? You’re not still in the building, are you?”

“Yeah, why? I don’t see the big deal. The hospital cafeteria’s got everything I need. Great Wi-Fi signal. Loads of computers on the network for me to hijack. Tons of people hanging out and killing time, so I’ve got plenty of cover, and everyone from the docs to the patients’ loved ones are so distracted, no one’s even given me a second glance.”

“You said you were in a coffee shop,” he said, his voice an angry, gravelly monotone.

“Yeah, well, I lied.”

“Listen to me. You’re not safe there. You need to get out of the building immediately, preferably through a staff exit.”

“Why a staff exit?”

“Because if someone’s watching the place, they’ll be monitoring the doors civilians come and go through. But-and this is important-you need to stay within sight of two people and two routes of egress at all times. Don’t allow yourself to be alone with anyone. Don’t let yourself get cornered.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Good. You should be scared. Listen to your fear. It’ll keep you safe. One more thing: Did Hannah tell you what this Fed looked like?”

“Uh…older guy. Really tan. Like, from the sun, not spray. Said he was wearing cowboy boots and a turquoise pinkie ring. That help?”

“Too soon to tell,” he said. “Now go. Run. Don’t stop until you’re sure no one is following. I’ll call back as soon as I can.”

“But what if-”

Hendricks disconnected the call. Felt a pang of guilt for leaving her in the cold. Prayed his paranoia was unnecessary.

Then he pulled up his burner’s keypad and punched in a number from memory.