Читать книгу The Night Window - Dean Koontz - Страница 25

The Counting Sheep Motel in its slow disintegration. The hive hum and swarm buzz of traffic, the amplified serpent hiss as a bus air-braked for passengers waiting on a bench, in the distance the hard tat-tat-tat-tat-tat of what might be either a jackhammer or an automatic weapon. Bright orange sun, ink spill of purple shadows seeping eastward.

In the front passenger seat of Jane’s Explorer Sport, warming the moment with his smile, Vikram Rangnekar said, “Hello, Jane.”

Jane stood at the open window in the driver’s door, pistol drawn, muzzle pointed at the pavement. “What is this?”

“I’ve missed you.”

“Been busy.”

“I lie awake at night worrying about you.”

“I’m okay.”

“You look okay. You look fabulous.”

“So … what is this?” she asked again.

“The disguise is optimal cool. It’s good.”

“Maybe not good enough.”

“May I say, you’re prettier without it.”

“Looking hot isn’t my main objective these days.”

“I have no gun. I mean you no harm.”

“Puts you in a damn small minority.”

“If you don’t shoot me, I can be of great help to you.”

“You’re FBI.”

“Not an agent. Never was. Just a computer buccaneer who used to work for the FBI. I resigned two weeks ago.”

Vikram was a white-hat hacker of great talent. Occasionally the Department of Justice had poached him from the Bureau and put him to work on what would have been criminal black-hat projects if they had not been conducted under the auspices of the nation’s primary law-enforcement agency. He’d had an innocent crush on her even when Nick had been alive, though he knew that she was—and always would be—a one-man woman, and he’d liked to impress her with his mastery at the keyboard. As an agent, before going rogue, Jane had always operated by the book, never resorting to illegal methods. But she had wanted to know what the corrupt inner circle at Justice might be doing, and she had encouraged Vikram to show off. He had developed back doors—“my wicked little babies”—to the computer systems of major telecom companies, alarm-company central stations, and others, and he had instructed Jane in their use. Once she had gone rogue, the ability to ghost through those systems without being detected had more than once gotten her out of a tight corner.

“If I weren’t your friend,” he said, “there would be like a hundred agents here, a SWAT team, helicopters, dogs, bomb robots. But it’s just me.”

“Not only the government wants to wring my neck.”

“Yeah, there’s some freaky group calling themselves Techno Arcadians, but I don’t know what they’re all about.”

Surprised by his knowledge, even as limited as it was, she surveyed her surroundings. Nothing amiss. She looked at Vikram again. “How do you know about the Arcadians? They don’t advertise.”

“Get in. Take us for a drive. I’ll explain.”

“Who were those people at the library?”

“Family. A brother. An uncle. Cousins. You look wonderful.”

“Where are my suitcases?”

“In the back. Take us for a drive. I’ll explain.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Vikram.”

“Good. I don’t want to be killed.”

“So don’t make it necessary.”

She holstered the pistol and climbed behind the wheel of the Explorer and pulled the driver’s door shut.