Wired - Douglas E. Richards [16]
Where are you Kira Miller? he said to himself as he changed lanes once again, blowing past two cars and returning to the left lane where he rapidly began pulling away from everyone behind him.
Was she living in a cave somewhere? Maybe. But not likely. He would start by assuming she was still in the States, hiding in plain sight. She was attempting a breathtakingly complex feat of genetic engineering. The report he had read was clear that, at minimum, she would require specialized equipment, cloned genes, ultra-fast DNA sequencers, biological reagents, and genetically identical experimental animals. A terrorist camp in Iran or Afghanistan, or even the best equipped labs in these countries, for that matter, wouldn’t be able to readily fulfill her evolving needs in this regard.
Desh decided that regardless of where she was hiding, he would begin by focusing on her computer. No matter how much she may have given up of her past life to elude pursuit, he couldn’t believe she’d swear off the Internet, especially given her need to tap into an ocean of biotechnology literature as her research progressed. But there were ways to use computers and the Internet without leaving a trail, and she had already shown an alarming degree of facility with computers when she had modified NeuroCure’s security software. Finding a single laptop among untold millions, and then having it happen to be in the lap of Kira Miller when it was found, was like finding a needle in a haystack the size of Texas.
Desh frowned as he realized this analogy fell short. The reality was that the particular needle he was after was not only lost in an enormous haystack, but was also mobile, and would be sure to dive even deeper into the haystack if it sensed someone coming.
5
David Desh was thirty minutes from his apartment when his cell phone vibrated inside his shirt pocket. He lifted it out and stole a quick glance at the screen. Wade Fleming appeared on the display.
He flipped open the phone. “Hi Wade.”
“Hi David,” came the reply. His boss wasted no time on small talk. “Do you happen to know a girl named Patricia Swanson?”
Desh’s brow furrowed as he searched his memory. “I don’t think so,” he said. He shrugged. “Of course it’s always possible that I met her but just forgot.”
“Then you haven’t met her. Believe me, you’d remember,” he said with absolute conviction “She’s a total knockout. I mean like centerfold material,” he added for emphasis.
“Okay,” replied Desh. “I’ll take your word for it. So what about her?”
“She visited the office about an hour ago. Asked for you by name.”
“Did she claim she knows me?”
“No. She says she’s vacationing at a few choice resort locations around the country for the next month, thinks she might have a stalker, and wants protection. Said she saw your picture and bio on our website and wants you assigned to her. I told her you had a busy month lined up, and offered up Dean Padgett.” A note of disapproval entered Fleming’s voice. “She wouldn’t have it. She wanted you, and she was prepared to pay extra to make sure she got you.” He paused. “Frankly, David, I think you might be the one who has a stalker, not her. She’s probably a bored, spoiled rich girl out for a thrill. What greater thrill than seducing your bodyguard? Must watch too many movies. Bottom line is that I got the feeling she sees you as more of a hired boytoy than a bodyguard.” He paused. “I was tempted to tell her you were gay and offer to take the job myself,” he said wryly.
Desh shook his head and a small smile crept across his face. Jim Connelly had promised to clear his calendar, and he must have had quite a laugh when he had hatched this scheme. He sure hadn’t wasted any time setting it in motion.
“So when do I start?”
“Tomorrow morning, if you take the job.”
“If I take the job.”
“I told her I needed your okay.”
“Really? That’s a first.”
“Look, David, as hot as she is, I’m not running an escort service here. I