Page 154 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
Bumble: Yes! Lots and lots!
Good girl.
Bumble: I text you after lunch so you know I missing you?
Yes, please, baby.
She sends me back a screenful of kisses and I tuck away my phone with a smile.
After doing whatever he does to “park” the plane, De Leon releases Lindy’s bindings but doesn’t take the hood off him. I grab our bags and follow him off the plane. Like the small airstrip where Mac met us, there’s a SUV with blacked-out windows parked near the hangar where De Leon leaves his plane. No one greets us. De Leon opens the back door, helps Lindy into the seat, and climbs in after him. I get in on the other side. There’s a black privacy screen separating us from the driver and I can’t see the driver.
The car starts with a deep purr and rolls away from the airport.
After he straps Lindy in and zip-ties his hands again, De Leon takes out his phone and waves it at me. I nod and take out the one he gave me.
Where are we?
De Leon: Mansfield, Ohio. I’ve rented a safe room from some bikers, so don’t freak out when we get there. They’re rough guys, but they’re solid. This is a business for them. As long as they get paid, they don’t care what we’re doing.
Okay. What’s the set up at the safe room?
De Leon: They advertise an untraceable, anonymous, internet connection, but I don’t have any technical specs beyond that. The room’s sealed from when we go in until we signal to be let out. They’ll provide food. No one will bother us.
Sounds good. How much do I owe you?
De Leon: 2k including your trip back to NYC. Bikers will drive you to Columbus so you can take a commercial flight. I’ve left an open ticket to La Guardia with American. Text Manny which flight. He knows where to pick you up.
I nod at him and put the phone away. He waves his at me again. I take the phone back out and read his text.
De Leon: We both know you’re going to forgive him. Just don’t do it today. Stay focused. I’m not good enough on the tech side to know if he’s fucking us.
Jury’s still out on forgiveness. I’ll have multiple eyes on him.
De Leon lifts his chin and tucks his phone away.
The SUV leaves smooth pavement and bumps over gravel road to a stop. All I see around us are trees until I climb out. There’s a squat, cinder block building painted a dull green directly in front of the car. To the side of the building, a man-sized satellite dish is mounted on a platform, with a camouflage net hanging above it, strung between the trees. I whistle silently. If they’re on satellite K-band, I might not need Snarlzilla.
As soon as I pull the bags out of the car and De Leon helps Lindy out, the car reverses and bumps away through the trees. De Leon guides Lindy to the building, knocks sharply on the green-painted door, and steps back when it swings open.
A bearded man wearing sunglasses despite the dimness inside the building beckons us in with two fingers. Inside the door, there’s a bare, windowless room with two doors leading off it.
“I’m Escher,” the man tells us. He doesn’t offer to shake hands. “I’ll get you set up. You’re in Room A. There’s a bathroom and a kitchenette. Fridge is stocked. There are frozen pizzas in the freezer. If you want anything else, there are a couple of takeaway menus. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it. Once you’re in, there’s no cell service. Connection is by ethernet cable. Access codes are on the laminated sheet on the table. My email is on the sheet, too. That’s how you communicate with me. You’ve got the room until noon tomorrow. Any questions?”
I shake my head.
Escher’s head turns slightly toward Lindy. “Anything I need to know about that?”
“No,” De Leon says. “He’s not a prisoner. I’ll take off the hood and ties once we’re inside.”
“Good enough,” Escher says. “Let’s go.”
He leads us through the right-hand door, down a short hallway, and through another door. Escher’s not a big guy. Maybe five-ten, hundred-seventy. He’s wearing a black crew-neck sweater and jeans, with a blue bandana over his hair. No biker paraphernalia except heavy leather boots. But it’s there in the way he moves. This guy’s a martial artist of some flavor. And although he’s got it in a pancake holster under the sweater, I’mfairly sure he’s packing. I wouldn’t want to tangle with him any more than I’d want to go one-on-one with De Leon.
Escher shows us into a larger, but equally windowless, room. There’s a big wooden table in the middle of the room with several gamer chairs drawn up to it. There are cots with pillows and folded blankets along the right and left walls and an archway into a tiny kitchen with a fridge/freezer, sink, hot plate, and coffee machine. A small door off the kitchen leads, I assume, to the bathroom.
There’s a thick cable running across the middle of the floor, covered with yellow tape to call attention to the trip hazard. Under the table, a bundle of smaller cables arch up out of the big cable and through a hole in the middle of the table. They sprout across the top of the table in an electronic bouquet.
I carry our bags to the table and while De Leon gets Lindy settled in a chair, shakes Escher’s hand, and closes the door behind him, then removes Lindy’s zip-tie and hood, I get our various electronics set up. I’ve got two laptops with me. Lindy’s brought two as well and I figure at least one of his has dedicated optimized password hashing circuitry the way mine does. De Leon has what’s probably a normal laptop. There’s a multi-outlet charging station next to the cable, so I plug everything in. A single laminated sheet on the table tells me how to log in and do a signal check. It’s as easy as plug and play. I have my two laptops set up in the time it takes De Leon and Lindy to give each other heated glares and take turns in the bathroom.
