Page 53 of G8
“No. Now listen carefully. Put it on the wall somewhere in the kitchen so people think it’s an extension, but it has to be a completely different number. You got me?”
“Not a problem. A wall phone, eh? What color?”
“I don’t care. Pick one. And make sure it has a long cord on it so they can take the receiver over to the stove.”
“I think I got a ten footer in the back. What name do you want to put the number under?”
“My name. Anson Biggs.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I want the number unlisted, private, and in my name. I also want the bill sent to my office, understand?”
“You got it. And it has to be done now?”
“The sooner, the better. If anyone asks you what you’re doing, you tell them it’s an extension. In no way do you let anyone know it’s a second, independent line.”
“This is for their protection, isn’t it?” Cal softly asked.
Instead of confirming, the sheriff continued. “Leave a message with my front desk when you’re done. Oh, and F8 will be at the camp to let you in. You tell her exactly what I instructed you to do.”
“Got ‘cha. Anything else?”
“I can’t think of anything at the moment, but I’ll give you a holler if I do.”
“Sheriff, wait,” G8 called out.
“Hold on a sec, Cal,” Biggs spoke into the mic, then looked at G8 in the rearview mirror.
“If it’s possible our phone is bugged, couldn’t it also be possible they have the camp on other surveillance? Like cameras and such?”
Biggs gave it a thought before raising the mic to his mouth. “Hey, Cal? You still have that little machine that ferrets out hidden cameras and mics and such?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“When you’re finished installing that second line, check the place out for other equipment that could be used to spy on the place, would you?”
“The whole encampment?”
“Yes, if you can.”
“Will do. Anything else?”
Biggs gave G8 and K8 a quick glance. When they both shook their heads, he nodded. “That’s all for now. Thanks a bunch, Cal.”
“No problem Talk to you later.”
The connection ended, and Biggs hung up the mic.
“Why didn’t you simply cancel the old number?” K8 inquired.
“For one, those people would become suspicious, and we don’t want them to know we’re onto them,” the sheriff answered. “Listen. From now on, use the new phone to talk to each other. Or to call my office. Use the old number for the regular mundane stuff like placing an order in town, or stuff like that.”
“In other words, keep using the old number so that whoever’s bugging it doesn’t get suspicious,” G8 presumed.
“Also, if any or all of you are going to be away from the premises, don’t broadcast it on the old number,” Biggs continued. Lifting a hand, he held it horizontally with the fingers spread and seesawed it up and down. “Once in a while, let it drop that you’ll be heading into town to buy groceries. Or that you’re running latetowork, orfromwork. That sort of thing. Whatever you can fabricate.”
K8 interpreted. “We need to keep them from knowing exactly what we’re doing, and how many of us are there or gone at any one time.”
