Chapter Text
University of Chicago, 1968
Ed's hands were flying over graph paper. He was writing a little and drawing a lot, long swooping lines that ignored the blue graph guides altogether as he mapped out complicated networks that only existed in his mind.
A classmate once described Ed as manic, when he got into a groove like this, but privately, Stede thought the better word was inspired. He was reminded of Al-Khwarizmi, of Da Vinci, even of Jimi Hendrix, although he would never admit that to Ed.
Lately, Stede was having quite a few thoughts that he would never admit to Ed. Thoughts like: whatever Ed was putting in his hair these days smelled amazing. Thoughts like: the sound of Ed's laughter was better than any song he ever played for Stede. Thoughts like: Ed had this one particular purple sweater that was a little too short on him, and when he wore it with his low-slung jeans, it exposed a tan strip of his lower back that sent Stede into system failure.
Ed was wearing the purple sweater today. He was hunched over his desk as he mapped out the network, and Stede could see all the way up to two knobs of Ed's spine. He felt the strong urge to lay his palms flat right there and let his fingertips slide under the hem of the sweater. It looked warm.
If that stretch of skin wasn't enough to send Stede into overdrive, the way Ed always smiled at him whenever their eyes met across the room did the trick. Boom. Like a computer on the verge of overheating, Stede's heart was straining against its programming, totally at the mercy of a scowling campus radical with a brilliant mechanical mind and a hidden soft side, who chased his Marlboros with chocolate milk and gave names to the wild rabbits that hopped around the edge of campus. How could Stede’s heart stand a chance against that?
So now he was so stupidly in love with his best friend that he ached with it all over. It was a sweet ache, too sweet to ignore, so Stede never bothered trying to fight it anymore when the sweetness bullied his mouth into a grin.
Ed always grinned back, that was the thing. They were best friends first and foremost, and if Ed ever noticed the way Stede's eyes lingered, he never let on. Sometimes Stede even thought he felt Ed’s eyes lingering back, but he chalked it up to wishful thinking; the fevered product of an overactive, undersexed imagination.
What mattered most was what they had right now, undeniably: friendship, and collaboration, and a brand new world of electronic possibilities at their fingertips.
Distracted as he was by thoughts of fingertips, Stede almost missed Ed's question. “Can I- oh, yes,” he said, blushing a little as he rummaged for the requested ruler. When he passed it over, he took a better look at Ed's map.
The design was every bit as transfixing as that glimpse of Ed's skin. Simple but audacious, certainly better than anything Stede had thought of. Ed’s way of connecting things would cut down routing time for sure. But something was wrong.
“What happens if one of the computers in the network gets replaced?” Stede asked, leaning over the desk.
Ed scratched his stubble with the back of his pen. “Nah, that's fine, that's- shit. Aw, shit. I see what you mean, it all goes down, doesn't it?” Stede was too busy thinking to answer, and Ed took his silence as assent. He started to ball up the paper. “What a waste of an afternoon.”
“Wait a minute, will you?” Stede startled them both with the sharpness of his voice, and Ed obediently flattened the paper while Stede tapped his chin, trying to follow the loose ends of his own thoughts. “It's a brilliant layout. It's a shame you can't… hm.”
When Stede trailed off, Ed tipped up to look at him. “Shame I can't what?”
“No, it's stupid. It's too much,” Stede backtracked, suddenly bashful.
“‘Too much’ is my middle name. Lay it on me, man.”
Those brown eyes looked up at him, full of encouragement and trust. He could do this. Ed wouldn't laugh at him. Ed never laughed at his ideas.
Stede squeezed his eyes shut and visualized his idea. “You've got the whole idea inside out,” he said quickly. “Stop worrying about how to connect this computer to that computer.”
“Mate, that's the whole point-”
“No, I know. I know that. But leave the host computers out of it as much as you can. They're going to change; they always do. Focus- here. ” In an act of unprecedented courage, Stede actually picked up Ed's hand (warm, rough, just right) and moved it onto the line Ed had drawn between computers. “Put the smart stuff in the lines between the computers, see? Like-”
“-like a small computer between every network point, yeah. Yeah. That could change everything.” Ed's smile of understanding spread wide enough to wrinkle the corners of his eyes. Stede's palm was still resting on the back of Ed's hand, and it wasn't his imagination that felt Ed's thumb creep up an iota to brush the edge of Stede's finger. Just for a moment, and then Ed broke the contact to grab a pencil. “I'll do you one better, mate-”
It took them another ninety giddy minutes to put their ideas together in a way that just might work. It took them another three days of questioning it from every angle to decide their idea wasn't just a shared delusion. Then there was nothing to do but bring it to the person who could help make it a reality.
Professor Ben Hornigold was ex-military, tough as nails, but he had a reputation for having an open mind. If you brought him an idea, he'd hear you out fair and square, but you'd better be prepared to answer the third degree.
Sweat prickled the back of Stede's neck while Hornigold stared down at the final copy of Ed and Stede's network map, his arms crossed. After a few minutes of agonizing silence, he looked up at Ed, assessing him, and then Stede. “You came up with this idea on your own?” he asked.
“Together,” Stede said quickly, “not alone.” Ed shot him an inscrutable look, but the professor just pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Well, boys, it's a good idea. A hell of a great idea, actually. Which is why they started work on it in Santa Barbara three months ago.”
A look of confusion passed between Ed and Stede. Their cutting-edge minds processed this new information, and in unison, they asked the only logical follow-up question.
“Huh?”
Hornigold pulled out a long blueprint folio and opened it, right on top of Ed's scribbled design. The resemblance between the two plans was obvious immediately. “Last quarter, Al Sherman and his guys got a quarter mil to start building a network- strictly on the west coast for now, but we'll be linked up to it by the end of this month. After us, DC and Boston. I was going to let Sherman explain it at a guest lecture when he gets here, but I guess-”
“They already built it?” Ed was looking at Hornigold like he had just told him he killed Santa Claus.
Stede gave Ed his best encouraging look. “But we arrived at the idea independently!” he said with false cheer.
“This sort of thing happens,” Hornigold said, not unkindly. “Parallel thinking. Get enough sharp minds trying to solve the same problem, sometimes two of you get the same solution. Hell, sometimes you all do.” He saw how dejected Ed still looked; shoulders slumped, hands jammed in his pockets, and chuckled. “Yeah, it never gets any easier, showing up late to the party and finding some other sonofabitch dancing with your girl. Chin up. You're smart kids. It'll be your turn one of these days.”
In Stede's apartment, Ed threw himself down on the bed with a groan. “So much for that,” he tried to sound disaffected and cool, but he spoiled it all with the addition of a frustrated “Fuck!”
“It's still a good idea. A great one,” Stede said, looking out the window to avoid staring at Edward Teach laying in his bed. He wanted to commit the image to memory, but he didn't dare look. His eyes would probably bulge out of his skull like that cartoon wolf. Get it together, Bonnet. “It just proves that we've got what it takes. Remember what you told me when I got a B on my Terminal Programming midterm?”
“Um. We should just drop out and start a commune in Wisconsin?”
Stede snorted. “After that? You said the history books weren't going to mention our grades in the chapter about us.” Us, Ed always said Us, like Ed-and-Stede were a forgone conclusion, a package deal. “You said I should keep my eyes on the next thing, not worry about what already happened. So take your own advice for once, will you? Keep your eyes on the road. We're still going to change the world.”
Sure enough, by the time U of Chicago got connected to the national network, Ed had abandoned his angst. “This is it, Stede,” he rambled during one of their late-night study sessions. “Computers are old news now. I mean, everything worth doing inside a computer has already been done. The future is in the space in between: the way computers communicate with each other. Information will be the currency of the future.”
Stede rolled his eyes. “Currency will be the currency of the future.” He saw Ed gearing up to argue, and he held up his hands preemptively. “Knowledge is power, I get it. But money can buy knowledge. And power. That's not going to change.”
“Hmmph,” Ed was more curious than judgemental, Stede could tell, “who are you, and what happened to the cute wide-eyed kid giving speeches about a brighter tomorrow at the Students for a Democratic Society meets?”
The word cute lodged itself in Stede's brain and tripped up his answer. “That's not- I don't- look,” He closed his textbook and set it on his lap. “I've seen the power money has. You know I have. Money's most powerful ability is to allow bad people to do bad things at the expense of those who don't have it. And unless you figure out some way to magically turn the whole system inside out, the straightest path to change will always be keeping money out of the wrong hands. Look at the Dow Chemical protests. Hitting a business where it hurt did more good than putting our ideals on signs ever did.”
“Right on.” Ed flipped through his lecture notes, and then his hands froze. He looked up at Stede with a look on his face that Stede recognized as the precursor to a big idea. “Posit. Stede, posit: computer networks are being used in business more and more. Even in banking.”
By the time Ed was halfway through his posit, Stede knew exactly where Ed was going with it. He felt a jumble of emotions that were hard to name: a twist of discomfort to start, but under that, stronger, was a thrill. He met Ed’s eyes and he knew they were feeling the same thing.“Observation: businesses often adopt new technology before they fully understand it.” He took a breath. “Even in banking.”
“Consequence,” Ed’s voice was so soft, almost a whisper. “Businesses are leaving themselves vulnerable to outside access.”
Slowly, in unison, they said “Even banks.”
“Conclusion,” Stede hesitated, hoping that Ed would jump in and say it for him. He felt like they were sitting together at the very top of a roller coaster, and from there they could see the whole glittering amusement park laid out under them. It was one hell of a view, but any second they were going to start hurtling through the air.
A sly smile hit the corner of Ed’s mouth. “Conclusion?”
Stede found himself mirroring Ed's smile as their eyes locked together. “Conclusion: we can do whatever we want.”
It was time to let the roller coaster roll.
San Francisco, 1992
The faded-red van kept a discreet distance from Jackie's classic old Jaguar. The mathematician drove as fast and unpredictably as her nimble mind worked, turning corners unexpectedly, taking shortcuts through shopping centers and alleys, severely testing Oluwande's tailing skills.
As Stede had predicted, she was heading toward the Barcelona Institute offices. They almost lost sight of her a few times, but they pulled up across from the glass-wall highrise in time to see the black Jaguar disappear into the underground parking garage.
“Her office is on the sixth floor, north side,” Olu told Stede.
The intercom setup in the back of the van crackled, and Buttons sprung into action, crawling over the back seat and passing the headsets forward.
“Cap?” Frenchie’s voice came through, although it sounded like he was in a wind tunnel.
Stede pulled his headset on. “We're here. Are you in position?’
“Am I in position?!” Frenchie echoed over the headset. “What, do you think I'm up here playing Spiderman?”
Looking out from the van, they could see a window-washer's platform creeping slowly up the face of the highrise toward the sixth floor.
Oluwande swung the van into the parking garage across the street and spiraled up to the top floor- the fifth. It was the best view they were going to get of Jackie’s office windows.
"How are we doing with audio?” Stede asked.
"Good,” Buttons reported, “Frenchie's nice and close.”
Through the binoculars, Stede could see Frenchie hanging over the edge of the window-washer’s platform just above Jackie's window. He was hanging on for dear life, extending a shotgun mike downward to the edge of the window.
Oluwande and Jim were busily unloading gear, and Archie fell in to help like she’d done it a hundred times. With arms full of equipment, the trio sprinted to the stairwell at the side of the parking structure and climbed upward.
On the roof, Oluwande stuck his nose out the fire door, looked around, then carefully shuffled out. Jim followed, carrying the video camera and tripod. They moved over to the parapet and checked out the angle. Still not quite high enough to see what they needed to see in Jackie's office, Oluwande scoped out the giant billboard that topped the parking garage. There was a ladder up one of the thick stanchions.
“You feel like a climb tonight?” Olu asked Jim. Jim did not look happy, but without a word, they clambered up to the catwalk underneath the sign. From below, Archie handed up the equipment one piece at a time. Jim quickly set up their camera on the small platform, and lay down behind it, trying to make themself invisible. They focused through the viewfinder; the angle was perfect.
Luckily, Jackie's office across the street had wall-to-wall windows, and the blinds were up open. Jim fussed with the focus on the long lens, aiming at objects like Jackie's desk in the dim reflected light in the office. "You picking up my picture?" they said quietly into his headset.
Below in the van, Stede tuned the picture on his video screen as Buttons monitored audio. Stede could make out a drafting table, filing cabinets, an erasable whiteboard, and shelves of books. “Coming in clear,” he reported. “Nice work.”
Just then, the motion-sensor lights in Jackie's office flipped on. Stede's screen showed Jackie entering her office and taking off her red leather jacket, revealing a silk camisole underneath.
“Whoa,” Jim muttered. “Doctor Jackie is fine .”
They watched as Jackie read through a pile of phone message slips and checked her fax machine. “PC, telephone, answering machine, fax machine, lamp,” Stede muttered. “No little black box anywhere.”
Jackie sat down at her desk and flipped a switch. Her computer screen greeted her with a request for a password. “She's logging on to her computer,” Stede narrated for the sake of the rest of the team, who didn't have a view. “Oh, this is good,” he breathed, “This is perfect. Show me your password and your network will be mine by morning.”
Stede felt the familiar thrill of anticipation, and for a moment, it felt like just another normal job, with normal stakes. But just when Dr. Jackie was just about to type, Frenchie's shotgun mic picked up a knock at her door. It was the blond man from the reception.
“Oh, Dr. Sjöberg,” Jackie's voice was muffled through the mic, but understandable. “What a surprise.”
“Was that Seaberg?” Olu asked over the headset.
“Sjöberg.” Buttons answered definitively. “That's an o with diaeresis. A Swede.” Stede didn't have to tell Olu to research this Dr. Sjöberg; he knew Olu was on it.
“He was at Jackie’s lecture today,” Stede told everyone on the network. “He told her something, and then she rushed out of there.”
Dr. Sjöberg stepped closer to Dr. Jackie. A strange look passed between them, and then- out of nowhere- they were locked together in a passionate kiss.
Stede and Jim gasped in stereo.
“What, what happened-” Frenchie asked, just as Oluwande barked out, “Status report!?”
Even though he didn't have a view, Buttons answered with disturbing precision. “I’d know that sound anywhere. French kiss, both parties on their feet, about the same height.”
“...well, Buttons, you nailed it,” Stede grimaced.
“Looks like they're about to nail it,” Jim added.
Sure enough, Jackie and the Swede were writhing together, grabbing at each other like a couple of teenagers. Then Jackie broke away, breathless. "Oh, Gunter,” she panted.
Frenchie, Jim and Stede cracked up.
“Gunter, you stud!” Frenchie cackled.
“Gunter,” Jackie repeated, which set off another set of giggles. “Gunter, baby, Jackie doesn't have time for this right now. I have work- oh, that’s it, right there.”
Oluwande cleared his throat over the headset. “Am I the only one who thinks we shouldn't be recording this?”
“Yes,” Frenchie and Jim chorused.
“They're just kissing. We don't want to miss something important,” Stede pointed out. “Let's just… try to be professional, crew.”
The Swede was behind Jackie now, standing up on his toes to press a line of open-mouthed kisses up her long neck. “Remember last weekend? In Mexico City?” he purred into her ears.
Jackie groaned, her resolve weakening. “My work, baby…”
“Don't you work better when you're relaxed?” his arms circled her waist.
For a moment it seemed like Dr. Jackie would give in, but then her spine straightened. She took the Swede’s wrists in her hands and gently peeled him away.
“Okay, she's getting rid of him,” Stede reported, relieved. “Yes! She's sitting back down. Password time.”
Dr. Jackie had her fingers on the keyboard and everything when the Swede moved to stand behind her chair. “Let me give you a massage?”
“We're going to be here all night,” Jim groaned.
Stede had an idea. “Buttons, hand me the car phone. Olu, you have Dr. Jackie's office number?”
“Of course. Let me just-” he pulled his address book out of his pocket and found the number.
The phone in Jackie's office rang, and sure enough, the Swede walked over to it, exposing the computer screen. But instead of picking up, he silenced the phone.
“That is why you have a phone service?” The Swede reminded her. “I talk to your phone service, I give them messages, but you never call me back?”
“I've been so busy lately,” Jackie said. “You know I've been busting my ass for the-”
“I know, I know,” the Swede interrupted her. Frenchie unloaded a litany of curses from his perch on the window-washer’s platform.
The Swede was back at Jackie's chair now, and he swiveled her office chair around to face him. “Everybody wants something from my genius Dr. Jackie, don't they?” In one smooth move, he sank to his knees in front of her. His hands came up to the plastic armrests of her office chair, caging her in. “But what does Dr. Jackie want?”
On his monitor, Stede watched Jackie tip her head back. She was still blocking most of the monitor, but if she would only-
“Okay, baby,” Jackie made up her mind. “You are impossible to resist. But we gotta hurry. Close the blinds.”
“ No!” everybody but Buttons cried out. The dutiful Swede rushed to the window and rotated the blinds closed, cutting off their visuals entirely.
“I can't believe it,” Frenchie groaned.
Suddenly there was a disruption in the window, right where the Swede had been standing. The blinds twisted askew like they were being crushed against the window. “Wait,” Stede said, “hold position. There's something wrong.”
Everybody held their breath. The disrupted blinds shook and slid against the window, up and down. Stede realized what was happening mere seconds before Frenchie’s microphone picked up the sound of an ecstatic gasp.
“Okay, Crew, we're rolling out!” Stede said, powering off his monitor. “Pack it in, we're done here. We're done.”
They packed up their equipment and drove away, leaving behind the rhythmic pulses of light and sound escaping through the straining blinds.
The scene spooled out in full video-taped glory, on a large HDTV monitor at the Lair: Jackie starts to type in her password, the phone rings, Sjöberg stops the call .“That is why you have a phone service?” the Swede says. “I talk to your phone service, I give them messages, but you never call me back?”
Stede backed up the tape and replayed from the phone ringing and Jackie leaning forward. Archie and Jim studied the images too, while Buttons listened. Stede replayed the tape and froze it at the spot where Jackie leaned forward. He moved forward a frame at a time until Sjöberg began to eclipse the picture. “There might be a frame or two where he doesn't block it," Stede said, fiddling with some patch cords. “Jim, can we enhance it?”
As Jim started fiddling, Oluwande walked in, with Lucius close behind, carrying a box of donuts.
Stede skipped the pleasantries. “What do we have on Sjöberg?"
“Visiting professor from Sweden,” Oluwande said, thumbing through a fat folder of photocopied documents on the desk. "Senior Research Fellow in Astrophysics at University of Stockholm.”
“Astrophysics,” Stede repeated. “Setec Astronomy.”
“Bingo.”
Archie grabbed a donut. “Why does the NSA give a shit about astronomy?” she asked around a mouthful.
“I'm sorry, who is this?” Lucius asked.
“Archie,” Olu and Jim answered in unison, neither of them looking up from their respective tasks. Archie smiled and wiggled her powdered-sugar covered fingers at Lucius.
Lucius squinted at her warily. “Helpful. Thanks. Any other info? Like, maybe: is Archie on the Crew now? Has she been vetted? Did she contribute to the donut fund?”
“I don't know,” Stede said. “Everything's happening very quickly.”
“Archie's cool,” Jim said, “so back off.”
“You're cool,” Archie said to Jim, scruffing their hair.
To Stede's absolute shock, Jim blushed. “Shut up,” they muttered, hiding their smile with their hand.
Oluwande watched them both with a fond smile, before switching back to business mode. He recited from his notes: “Gunter Sjöberg. Brilliant theoretical astronomer. Born and raised in Gothenburg, father a professor, both parents now deceased. No brothers or sisters. Educated at Chalmers, doctorate Cambridge. Leading a research project at Berkeley.”
“None of it screams KGB agent or intermediary,” Stede said, puzzled.
“You're right about that,” Oluwande agreed. “In fact, his file indicates that he's apolitical. He thinks politics is a dirty business.”
“So what's his angle? Why is he here?”
“Maybe he's just in it for the money, yeah?” Frenchie said. “The Swede lines up a Russian buyer for the mysterious little black box, he gets a piece while Jackie's getting his piece.”
Oluwande rolled his eyes.
“Maybe he's got nothing to do with the box,” Jim said. “Maybe he just thinks Jackie's a babe.”
Frenchie hummed thoughtfully. “It sure sounded like they had chemistry last night.”
“I miss everything fun,” Lucius griped, pouring himself a second cup of coffee.
Jim smirked. “Okay, I've got the video cleaned up.” They turned back to the VCR, ran the tape again at the right spot. The Swede’s voice repeated, “I talk to your phone service, I give them messages, but you never call me back?”
“There!” Stede said. He could barely make out some fuzzy letters. “S.... K... no, go back a second, will you, please?” The tape ran in reverse for a second, then Sjöberg spoke again. “I talk to your phone service, I give-” The picture paused.
Oluwande tilted his head. “I think that first character is a 5, not an S.”
“No way,” Archie said. “Look, you can see the 10-key on the keyboard, she's not touching it. A mathematician like Dr. Jackie wouldn't use the number bar.”
Stede raised his eyebrows. “Good catch, Archie. Let's roll the whole sequence again, you watch her hands.”
Another rewind. Again Sjöberg intoned, “I talk to your phone service, I give them messages, but you never call me back?”
A collective groan of frustration filled the room. "The Swede is in the way,” Jim said with finality. “We’ll never see what she was typing.”
“No. No, we won't. And we don't need to!” Stede clapped his hands together with excitement as the answer dawned on him.
The crew shared puzzled looks. “Okay, but we do, though.” Frenchie said slowly. “If we want to get into her records and find out where she's keeping the box, we do very much need her password, right?”
“Wrong!” Stede was so elated he could crow. “The only thing we really need is the box. And I know where the box is. Jim, rewind the tape one more time.”
Once again, Dr. Sjöberg massaged Dr. Jackie’s shoulders. Once again, the phone rang. And the Swede complained once again, “I talk to your phone service, I give them messages, but you never call me back?”
“Oh my God,” Lucius said, as the lightbulb lit above his head. “You’re right, Captain. You're so right.”
Stede would happily preen over that for another minute or two, but he could feel the rest of the crew getting impatient. “Olu, what do you see on Jackie’s desk?”
“Ugh. PC, printer, coffee cup, answering machine- oh, hell yeah ! ”
“Okay, yeah,” Jim said, “one of you geniuses just say what you're seeing right now or I'm walking out of here.”
Stede smiled benevolently. “Why would Dr. Jackie need an answering machine on her desk if she already has an answering service?”
“And look-” Oluwande snapped his fingers at the screen, “the answering machine isn't even plugged into anything.”
“The box is in the answering machine?” Archie asked.
“Or it is the answering machine,” Jim said gleefully.
“So all we have to do is… break in and take it.” Stede sat back in his chair, feeling optimistic for the first time since this whole lousy business began. “Lucius, pass me a donut, will you? We’ve got a fuckery on our hands.”
A handsome young man, his lanky frame exaggerated in baggy jean shorts and a thick flannel shirt, was arguing with the guard in the lobby of the Barcelona Institute. Apparently, the kid didn't have the right paperwork for the delivery he wanted to make- several large cartons destined for the maintenance department.
“No invoice, no entry,” the guard told him.
“Well, just wait,” the messenger said, aggravated. I’ve got the damn invoice here somewhere.” He banged his clipboard down on his boxes and made a show of jamming his hands into his multitude of pockets. He even took off his slightly too-large bucket hat and searched it. “Okay, I remember seeing it right before I bought a pack of smokes…”
‘Discombobulated Delivery Boy’ was one of Frenchie's favorite cons. With most face cons, you had to move fast, get in and out before your mark realized that something was wrong, but when you were the Discombobulated Delivery Boy, you could really stretch the performance out. The longer the better.
Sure enough, he could sense the security guard getting tired of the whole interaction. It was late in the day, and the guard’s attention was split by the employees who stopped by the guard station and opened their briefcases and attaché cases for inspection, then headed out of the building.
Two of the employees, Young Republican think-tank researchers with laminated ID badges and buttery leather attaché cases, made their way toward the exit slowly, talking. One of them was nice enough to hold the door for a man who was struggling with a bunch of balloons and a big pink box that obviously held a cake.
Behind the shield of balloons, Stede was looking very Ivy League: blue Oxford button-down shirt, club tie, the works. He had his hair slicked back and wore wire glasses and a gold wedding band. He approached the security entrance, passing Frenchie, who was now emptying the contents of his backpack into the guard's counter
With both hands occupied by the big cake, his briefcase and a raincoat, Stede called out to the guard, “Sorry, I can't reach my card.”
Frenchie ignored Stede and upped the ante. “If I have to haul all this back to base, I'll be late on the next one, too, and if I'm late on two deliveries they'll shit-can me. I can't lose this job, man, I'm about to ask my girl to marry me!” his voice broke, and even Stede was moved by the performance.
The security guard, however, held firm. “I let you in without an invoice, I'll lose my job. Get outta here.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Stede said politely, shooting the guard a sympathetic ‘can-you-believe-this-guy’ look, “Can you just pop the buzzer for me, Dave?” The guard hit the buzzer, and Stede walked through the door. “Thanks,” he said to the guard. “I'll send you down a piece of cake.”
The last thing Stede heard as the elevator doors closed behind him was Frenchie's indignant, “Yeah, maybe you should calm down!” Stede smiled and punched 4. Two workmen with a dolly were already in the elevator, heading to 6.
“Cake, huh?” one of the workmen said.
“Yep,” Stede said from behind the balloons. “It's a 40-orange glaze. For Secretary’s Day. What about you?”
“We're installing new locks on all the offices,” the workman said.
Stede’s mental antennae went up. “Oh? I didn't realize we had problems. Somebody walking off with our calculators?”
“Oh, no, no problems,” the workman said. “Just a precaution. The old locks you could pick with a tool, these are state of the art: electronic keypads. No way in without the combination. We already put ‘em on the first five floors last week, but we've got eight floors to go.”
“Oh. Those. Of course.” Stede said, his heart plummeting. The workman shot him a funny look, so Stede recalibrated, forcing a pleasant laugh. “I just hope the installation isn't too loud. I've already got enough of a headache, between my boss and the… old lady at home.”
Both workmen nodded. “I hear that,” one of them said.
The doors opened on the fourth floor. “See you later,” Stede said as he exited, and immediately winced at the inane line. He quick-stepped down the corridor until he found an empty kitchenette where he dropped the balloons and cake. He had insisted on a real cake- ‘in case they check,’ he had told Lucius, but really, it was the least they could do to offset the breaking and entering.
When he was sure he was alone, he whispered into his lapel mike, “Oluwande, do you know how to beat an electronic keypad?”
“Don't even joke about that, Captain. Those things are impossible.”
Stede was kneeling in front of Jackie’s door, examining a doorknob with no keyhole. To his right was a shiny new electronic keypad. “Does it sound like I'm joking?” he hissed.
“Calm down,” another voice said in Stede's earpiece- it was Jim. “As long as it's not made by Chainex, there are ways around it. I'll talk to you through it.” The logo was visible on the beveled edge of the keypad. Stede leaned over to look at it, and then he gently but firmly knocked his head against the door- once, twice, three times.
“Chainex.”
The other line was silent. No doubt Jim had muted their microphone while unloading a string of curses.
After a moment, Oluwande spoke up, his voice as calm as ever. “Let's keep it together, crew. We're professionals, aren't we? This is what we're supposed to be professional at!” Stede smiled half-heartedly at his resilient point man. “Right, Captain. Tell us everything you see around you. Maybe there's some- what? Hey-”
Stede raised up on his knees, alert, as he heard what sounded like a short scuffle on the other line. “Oluwande! Status report!”
The voice on the other line wasn't Oluwande. “You really need to get me my own headset, Captain, if I'm gonna be on the crew. Don't you think?”
“Archie.” Stede let out a massive sigh of relief.
“Yeah, I think I have a workaround, if you wanna give it a shot.”
Upstairs, Stede listened on his earpiece, nodding at the lengthy instructions. “Uh huh... uh huh... yeah? Above the-? Okay,” he said. “I'll give it a shot.” He sighed. He straightened up, looked up and down the hall to make sure the coast was clear. Then he took a deep breath and gave the doorknob a mighty kick. It broke off cleanly, and the door flew open.
“That worked!” he said into his mic. A brief wave of adrenaline left him feeling giddy. “I did a kick!” He scrambled after the doorknob and reattached it, before entering the office and closing the door behind him.
Stede flipped on the lights in Jackie's office, then went straight to the broad front window and opened the blinds.
"Peekaboo,'' Jim said into Stede's earpiece. They were perched on the catwalk of the billboard across the street, just like the night before. In the van, once again parked one floor below, Oluwande had a good video view of Jackie's office on his monitor.
Stede shook his head appreciatively as he picked up Jackie’s answering machine. He turned it over, examining it. He got a screwdriver out of his pocket, wedged the blade under the facing and started to pry it off.
The knob on Jackie’s door rattled sharply, followed by a thump and an expletive from the hallway. Stede nearly jumped out of his skin.
“What, what is it?” Olu said in his ear.
“Trouble!” Stede whispered hoarsely. He replaced the answering machine, hustled to the door and yanked it open. He found himself face to face with Dr. Gunter Sjöberg. Gunter opened his mouth to cry out in alarm, but Stede was faster. In one motion, he clamped a hand over his mouth, hauled him inside the office, and closed the door.
“Listen,” Stede said in his most reassuring tone. “Listen. I'm going to remove my hand now. Please, please, do not scream. I promise nothing will happen to you. Okay?”
The Swede nodded. Stede carefully let him go.
True to his word- well, his nod- the Swede didn’t scream, although he looked about thirty seconds away from having a panic attack. “Who are you?”
Stede wasn’t doing much better on the panic front. He was desperately trying to dredge up a plausible cover story, but the well was empty.
Down in the van across the street, Archie swooped in. “Say he’s a private investigator!” she whispered.
“You're a private investigator!"' Olu blurted into the headset.
“I'm a private investigator,” Stede said coolly to the Swede. He didn't volunteer any more details- for the simple reason that he didn’t have any.
“Okayyy, but… why?” the Swede said, wringing his hands nervously. “Why are you in my Jackie’s office? Who hired you? ”
Stede raised his head and looked at him narrowly for a long moment, as though assessing his credibility. At last, an idea flew into his head. “Jackie’s husband.”
Dr. Sjoberg looked outraged and suspicious. “But Jackie does not have a husband?” he said. “What is this really about?”
In the van, Olu winced at the bad news. Jim and Archie just looked at him. “You got us stumped, Captain,” he whispered. “You're on your own there.”
But Stede was beginning to cook. He hadn't remained an FBI fugitive-at-large for twenty years by not being able to think on his feet. “No husband, huh?” he gave a bitchy little snicker. “Who do you think paid for your little love jaunt to Mexico City last weekend?”
That got him good. Dr. Sjoberg blanched and sank onto the couch, his hand on his chest to try and calm his fluttering heart. “Why? Why would somebody do that?”
“Why?” Stede repeated, opening his hands incredulously, as though the why was as plain as the nose on his face. He had no idea why. As his gaze flicked out the window in mock exasperation, his eye fell on the huge billboard across the street advertising a Caribbean resort. “I’ll tell you why. Geraldo Leslie lives in Barbados, where he manages his family's real-estate holdings. A resort, apartments, a mall- no, two malls.” Stede vamped, waiting for more ideas to come.
“He supports Jackie financially, of course. He's a wealthy man, but he suspected that she was cheating on her. That's when he hired me.”
Jim, Archie and Olu were listening rapt. This was good stuff.
“How could Jackie be so cruel???” the Swede was inconsolable. “After everything she said to me? I- I need to see her, I-” He was up and moving toward the door, beside himself with heartbreak.
In his headset, Stede heard a faint “Oh, shit!”
Stede stopped the Swede gently but firmly. “No, Gunter!” he said. “Get ahold of yourself, man!" He looked deep in his eyes, trying to will him to calm down. The wild look in his eyes began to fade just slightly. “'You must never tell her you know. Never! In fact, I never should have told you. You weren’t here. We didn't talk. You know nothing about Geraldo Leslie.”
“Ha!” the Swede said. “Give me one good reason why I should let her get away with it?”
“Alright! Alright,”' Stede said desperately. “I'll give you one.” Oh God, what? he thought. “I'll give you a very good reason.” He walked away from her, frowning as though weighing heavy matters, taking care to keep himself between the Swede and the door.
“It's just what he would want!” Olu hissed in his earpiece.
Stede turned. “It's just what Geraldo would want you to do,” he said calmly.
"I don't understand?
“Yeah. Sometimes I don't either,” Stede said, searching wildly for a line of reasoning.
Archie had apparently seized control of Olu’s headset again. “He's using you to get to him,” she said.
“Yes,” Stede sighed and stared off into the middle distance. “Geraldo is using you- I mean, using me, to get to, uh, you! I know it's confusing, but don't you see, Gunter? You and me, we’re just pawns in Geraldo's ugly little game.”
Dr. Sjöberg looked buffeted by conflicting winds. Stede, sensing an opening, moved in. He put his hand on the Swede’s shoulder, man to man, and looked in his eyes. “Gunter, if you love her,'' he said softly, “if you really love her…”
Stede’s mind went completely blank. “If you really, really love her…” he repeated for the third time, and then stopped.
“Just keep loving her!” Archie prompted him through the headset.
“Just keep loving her,” Stede said soulfully. “And never let her know. She can never know that you know what she thinks you don't even know that you know. You know?”
Something broke in the Swede. He stopped trying to figure it out rationally and just gave himself over to Stede's soothing patter.
“And give her head whenever she wants,” Jim's voice chimed in Stede's earpiece.
“And give her hehhh-” Stede's eyes bulged. He put a hand over his mouth in an effort to keep a straight face. “Give her help . Help in all that she needs. Be a lighthouse in her life,” Stede managed to blurt without breaking up. “A beacon. An unwavering light, always guiding her home. Will you do that… for Jackie?” It was a performance worthy of a Lifetime Original Movie.
“Yes.” The Swede dabbed his eye. “Yes, I will?”
Stede squeezed his hand. “Good,” he said with a noble smile. Then, putting the tough-guy persona back on: “Go on now. Get out of here.”
“You're a wise man,” Gunter said, giving Stede a grateful nod and hurrying toward the door.
“God bless you!” Stede blurted as he walked out and closed the door. Stede steadied himself on the desk and allowed himself a giant sigh of relief. He snarled into his lapel mike: “'Give her head’?!”
Jim, Archie and even Olu were hysterical with laughter. “Be a lighthouse? ” Jim shot back. Stede shook his head. Before he could be interrupted again, he slipped his screwdriver blade under the facing of the answering machine and pried. Pop! The top came off. And underneath, sure enough, was a black box.
“We got it!” he whispered into his lapel mike. To muffled cheers in his ear, he carefully placed the box back in the answering machine and stuck the whole thing in his briefcase. "Whatever the hell it is.”