The Switch

42

There was something deeply unnerving about seeing a man like the normally stolid Brent Stover so visibly frightened.

This conversation never happened. Don’t contact me again. Please.

What the hell had the FBI agent discovered? What had he been told?

And what was this about turning off his phone? Tanner wondered whether it was true that you could be tracked via your mobile phone. He’d heard that somewhere but had never given it much thought.

But he kept his phone turned off just in case.

He stopped at a convenience store and bought three prepaid cell phones. He had to be reachable, had to stay in touch with the office, yet he couldn’t use his iPhone any longer. He returned to Carl’s house in Newton, warily — parking down the street and around a corner and walking back to the house. Was he being followed? He didn’t think so. Not that he could tell, anyway.

He unlocked the front door, couldn’t help noting the house smell. Every house had a different one. Carl’s was a blend of faint mildew, mothballs, old vacuum cleaner bag, and coffee. Tanner was like a bloodhound with a highly specialized skill, or maybe more like a truffle hound: he could detect the odor of coffee anywhere.

Carl wasn’t home — Tanner called out — so he switched on the lights in the living room and opened one of the disposable cell phone’s blister packs using a pair of scissors, though a hacksaw would have been a lot easier. The phone’s battery came with a minimum amount of charge, but enough to call Lucy Turton, Tanner Roast’s office manager. While they talked, he plugged the phone in to charge, then set up and plugged in the other two phones in the outlet on the kitchen wall.

“I’ll be away from the office a few more days,” he said.

“Okay...” Lucy sounded like she wanted to ask why but it wasn’t her place.

“And I’ll have a different phone number for a while. My iPhone died.”

“I see the number... Okay. Hey, a couple of guys came by here looking for you.”

“When was this?”

“Just a couple of hours ago. Serious-looking dudes. They said they were from Homeland Security.”

“What’d they want?”

“They wouldn’t tell me what it was about. They said they’d only talk to you, and they said they’ll be back.”

“Thanks.” Tanner ended the call. They’d probably tried his house, too. And it wouldn’t take them long to determine the names of his employees and friends, and soon enough they’d find him here, at Carl’s house.

Which meant he had to leave here as soon as possible.

At the same time, Tanner couldn’t help but think: Is this all about the goddamned senator’s laptop? What if I just give it back? What would happen if he simply handed it back to the senator’s office? If he called that guy, Will Abbott, and said, You know what, you’re right, I have it, and here it is, and let’s end this.

Lanny had insisted that the laptop was his life insurance policy, that once he surrendered it, he was disposable; he could be killed. Because the real issue was what was on that laptop: the top secret documents. Lanny had them, on a thumb drive; he let people know he had them, and he was killed. Before he had the chance to publish a story. Maybe Lanny was killed because he knew about these documents — to stop him from making them public.

Whereas Tanner was still alive. Maybe that was because someone wanted to get that computer back. And once they’d gotten it, they’d surely kill him too.

So: no. The computer had to stay hidden, held as a hostage.

But it occurred to him, with a spasm of terror, that maybe things had changed. Maybe things weren’t so simple anymore. Maybe having the laptop hidden away wasn’t enough to keep him safe.

After all, he had killed a man.

Maybe that had marked him. Maybe he was in a different category now. Maybe they knew he’d done it. They — whoever sent the tattooed guy after Tanner — would have a pretty good idea of who must have done it, a couple of blocks from the Tanner Roast office and roastery.

He heard a key turning in the front-door lock and for a moment he froze. He looked around for a weapon, something he could use if it came to that. A lamp? Then his eyes lit upon the fireplace and the metal tools next to it, including a fireplace poker. That would do nicely. He grabbed it and took a few steps toward the entry hall, poker up in the air, ready to swing, in case—

“Whoa there, dude,” Carl said.

“Sorry.” As he lowered the poker, he realized his hand was shaking.

Carl frowned. “Did something happen?”

Tanner shook his head.

“Someone try to get in?” Carl was maybe twenty feet away, but Tanner could smell the funk of his sweat. He was just back from a day of lessons and classes and he hadn’t taken a shower.

“No. But it’s only a matter of time. They’ve already been looking for me at work. I’m sure they looked at my house. Now I’ve gotta move.”

“But who’s been looking for you?”

“I have no idea who. They say Homeland Security. But I don’t know.”

Carl crinkled his brow. “FBI, maybe?”

“I don’t think so.”

“CIA? Some other three-letter agency?”

Tanner shrugged.

“Where are you gonna move to? Come on, man, I’m worried.”

“I don’t know, but I have an idea. I need to see my wife.”

“Can we talk?” Tanner said.

“Uh-oh. Now it’s your turn,” Sarah said.

“This is really important.”

Her tone changed suddenly. “What is it?”

“I can’t talk on the phone.” Maybe he was being unduly paranoid, but he assumed that they had the ability to listen in on Sarah Tanner’s mobile phone and that they might in fact be doing it. He didn’t want to take the chance.

Tanner and Sarah arranged to meet on Huron Avenue in Cambridge, in front of her real estate company’s offices. It was cold and windy, a fall nip in the air, the threat of a Boston winter on the way. He saw her from a distance, illuminated by a streetlamp. She looked small and vulnerable.

“Tanner, what’s going on?” She was dressed in one of her business suits, a loden green jacket over a matching skirt. She’d obviously just come from a showing. No coat. Wind was whipping her hair.

Her arms were folded. He gave her a quick kiss. “Aren’t you cold out here?”

“Yeah, freezing.” He took off his jacket and held it up for her. Gratefully, she slipped her arms in. He looked around, saw a pizza place across the street that was open.

She saw him spot it and said, “Good idea.”

Inside the pizza place they found an open table. “How come you can’t talk on the phone?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Tell me. Is — everything okay?” She covered Tanner’s hand with hers, a protective reflex. “You seem totally stressed.” He was touched by her gesture. It was like a glimpse of the old Sarah, pre-separation.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Dread in her face, she said, “What is it?”

When he was finished, she looked shaken. “Give the goddamned laptop back.”

“It’s the only leverage I have.”

“Which you’re not going to be alive to use, Tanner!” she whispered.

“I think it’s too late to just give it back. If I could do it and survive, I would.”

“Then you need to make this public. It’s like Lanny told you — they can blow out a candle but not a fire. If you tell, like, The New York Times and they run with it, you’re protected. The world knows, not just you. They’ll no longer have a motivation to... you know, do anything to you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know anybody at The New York Times.”

“What about the Globe? Remember that nice piece they did about Tanner Roast when we were just getting started?”

“Lanny’s editor,” Tanner said abruptly.

“You know him?”

“No, but that should be easy to find. I’ll just call. That’s the guy to talk to.”

“They’ll want to see the documents. Do you have a copy?”

“I made a copy on a thumb drive. Also uploaded to the cloud, whatever that means.”

“Great. If they see the documents, they’ll know you’re serious. They’ll get it. It could be a huge story.”

“Maybe this is the only way,” Tanner said, more to himself than to Sarah.

“You said you wanted to ask me a favor.”

“Yes. Two things. Both are big asks.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Can I borrow your car?”

A shrug. “Sure. What else?”

He told her, and handed her one of his burner phones.

She bit her lower lip. “I could get in serious trouble, Tanner.”

He nodded, solemn. “That won’t happen. I’ll be careful.”