The Sentinel Ch. 02

Their principle topic of discussion was their respective boyfriends which, for any sophomore college coed, was the most important class they were taking that year and required their complete attention and of course, full investigation.

And so, the next hour was lacy and suzi catching up, chatting about classes and professors, clothes and boyfriends. Girls doing girl things. An interesting note at the end being suzi's announcement that Todd, her boyfriend, was taking his video camera and laptop home with him for the holidays so they could keep in touch, and she was going to do the same. How on earth had their parents survived the holiday's way back when, in the 60's and 70's? Lacy agreed with suzi on that point and was sure she didn't know either. Suzi really had no idea the impact her naked body was having on the Sentinel as she sat there painting her nails between chats. Nor did she see the wad of Kleenex as it dropped to the floor to add to the clutter of the Sentinel's nest.

*****

Jack faced his first solo venture into the real world with some trepidation. It started at the elevator with the gathering of luggage and the checking of compartments for papers and documents - making sure his passport was there, eight thousand dollars cash, his credit cards, and one duffle type bag of clothing that consisted mostly of Dockers and Polo shirts. He had dug out an old pair of jeans and a few ratty-looking shirts, just in case he needed to fade into the background, as well as some new Nikes and a pair of old Converses he had come across in the back of his closet that should have been thrown away years ago.

He had only explained to Michelle that he was taking some vacation, getting out of his 'fortress' for awhile to see what the real world was like out there. He'd given her a few instructions: the maid was to come once a week, keeping her on salary but letting her enjoy some time off; the refrigerator was to be cleared out; and he would let her know a few days before that he was returning so that it could be restocked. He also had Michelle book a flight to L.A. - first class, please. He wasn't sure how hard it would be to travel with a wheelchair, but he did know he wanted to be at the front of the plane.

Before leaving his apartment, he went to check the computer room one last time. It was the first time since Lisa's death that his electronic connection to the outside world had been shut off, and he still found it a little eerie to walk in and not hear the whir of the cooling fans or see the glow of the screens. But all was in order; machines shut down and locked with boot drive passwords. If anything happened to him, the hard drives would never be read again. They would have to be taken out and thrown away, and new drives put into the machines if they were to be used.

Walking to his office, he checked one last time to see that his scrapbook and the three letters he had left were locked in the safe. Each letter was clearly marked on the outside with guidelines designating under which circumstances they were to be opened and by whom. With all in order, he closed the safe and spun the dial. One last look at Lisa and him asleep on the wall and he was off. He called downstairs to let the guards know he would be leaving. No, he wouldn't need any help; in fact, he preferred to do it all himself. Pushing his wheelchair in front of the elevator, he surrounded himself with his duffle bag, computer hard case, and Lisa's carry-on computer bag and sat down to wait. With cameras all over the building, it was important he continue to be the same Jack they knew him as - a paraplegic in a wheelchair. The soft ding announced the arrival of the elevator, and Jack pushed the duffle bag in front of his wheelchair while carrying the other two bags on his lap. Hitting S1, he was off.

Rolling out onto the concrete pad in front of the elevators, he pulled the van keys out and pushed the 'Find Me' button with trepidation. He had seen it work once, but it just seemed so strange to hear an engine start and after about five minutes have his van pull up beside him at the curb and stop to await his next request. He glanced at the camera beside the elevators before he wheeled up to the side of the van and pushed another button on the key chain which opened the side door so he could stow the luggage. Pushing another button caused an electronic side lift to swing out and lower a platform so he could wheel on and be lifted into the van. From there, he pushed buttons on an inside console that moved the driver's seat back and stowed it out of site so he could wheel his chair behind the steering wheel and lock it in place.

The system was the result of a joint venture between Mercedes and Cal Tech. The developers had shown a small documentary of another van driving itself across the U.S.; its only occupants were a camera man in the backseat and a 'navigator' that sat up front in the passenger seat watching a GPS screen and portable computer that indicated what the van's computers were doing or contemplating as their 'next action.' Four high-definition cameras pointing forward, a wide angle camera to each side, and four more high-definition cameras to the back kept track of all that was happening around the van. One basis for optimal operation was the high-contrast lines that were found painted on most U.S. highways and roads. Most had been painted to strict specifications, and it had only been a question of being able to identify those lines - to know where the vehicle was in relation to them and then where the other vehicles and obstacles on the road might be. A sophisticated system of servos and motors actually drove the van using five onboard computers in a rack behind the rear door; the van had more computing power than the space shuttle. Two computers were in use at any given moment to drive the van while two others were available to take over in case of a failure. The fifth acted as a monitoring system to display all that was happening through a dashboard display and a heads-up display.

If Jack had wanted to, he could have found the airport terminal and gate in the computer and let the van drive him there before sending it back home to park again. But instead, he chose to use the normal controls available to other people who might need to move or drive it for him. Waving at the guard on his way out, Jack was off.

Arriving at the airport, he parked in short term and stepped out like any other normal person, grabbing his bags and heading for the check-in counter. He made a quick call to Michelle to tell her where the van could be picked up and to ask if someone could come by with the extra keys to take it back to its parking place. He was sure it would be there, tank full, upon his return. Taking out the wheelchair, a generic green that could be found in most nursing homes, Jack pushed it into the terminal and left it beside another one by a counter as if returning it after use. A clerk looked up and smiled a 'thank you', and Jack was off.

After so much time in his cocoon, the thing that bothered Jack the most was the noise. Constant and distracting, he found it hard not to withdraw into himself as he walked through the concourse. Had it always been like this or had he become more sensitive? Checking in, he found they were ready to board and was relieved to finally be in the plush leather of first class, seated on the aisle at the very front. No, he didn't require handicapped assistance; it must have been a glitch in their system, but it was still great to be in the first row.

It was strange that Jack had never turned on Lisa's computer. He had sat in front of it several times - screen open, adapter connected, waiting - but had never been able to push the button and call it to life. When they were in the air and the first round of service had been carried out, Jack sat once again in front of the machine - the adapter once again plugged in, charging the battery, as he stared at the black screen sipping a scotch. What would he find? Would he find her image there? Would she be smiling and laughing as she was most of their time spent with each other on cam? Would she be sultry and sexy as he sometimes found her when he was away for a particularly long trip? Or would he be forced to live those last ten minutes once again? Would he see the gun as it went slowly into her mouth, see the tears as they streamed down her cheeks, and her shuddering as the barrel choked her? Would he hear the shot again as the killer took from Jack all he was - his friend and confident, his lover and mate.

Palms sweaty, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, willing the vision to go away with the concentration of a sick person trying not to vomit. The little girl's voice didn't register at first, but the beep of the computer coming on did. Jack jerked, eyes open wide, to find an eight-year-old standing beside his seat saying her daddy had one of those, too, and he always let her turn it on. Dazed for a second, Jack finally thanked her as she was ushered back to her seat where her mother had fallen asleep. The stewardess apologized and wanted to know if he would like his drink refilled. And with that, there it was; her machine had started running only to stop at the log in password prompt, user name Lisa - ready to load if she would please put in the proper password.

Jack just stared as he recalled their chat about passwords; it had been fun as they defined the general outline of what they would use for passwords but not telling what they were, playing for hours at guessing the other's password. They had wanted to make sure they could get into each other's machines if needed but didn't want to make it too easy, preferring the challenge of exercising their intellect.

Lisa's had been fairly simple. She was fourteen when she first kissed a boy so her number would always have fourteen characters. She lived on the telephone so she had chosen combinations of phone numbers to get in with. The phone numbers should be unlisted to make it an even bigger challenge and no longer in use by the original owner. "There, Jack, that should make it pretty much impossible." She had enjoyed watching Jack contemplate. Then she had seductively unbuttoned the first button of her blouse and told Jack he could have a button for each number he got right, and if he could actually get them in the right order, the clothes would come off. They had both had fun that afternoon - she in Chicago and Jack in New York. Jack dove for his phone and called a friend of his father's that worked in security. Supplying a little personal information about Lisa and her family and twenty minutes later, Jack had a fax list of six phone numbers with names, dates, and addresses beside them. Scanning the list, he discarded the house she had lived in until she was six, guessing she was too young to know the number. Two others that belonged to an Aunt when she was young were also discarded. One listed as her father's personal phone number at the office until two years ago was a good candidate, and another was an old mobile number she had used in college, also unlisted. The last was an apartment number she had for his use only which had changed a few months previous when she had moved.

He could still recall the challenging grin on her face as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms daring him to try. He was sure her father's old office number was one so he grinned sheepishly and started reading off numbers out of order. Her smile faded slowly as he finished the seven digits, and she realized he had marked off seven of the fourteen numbers. And then she made her mistake. She had actually told him he had guessed seven of the numbers. Looking quickly at the other numbers on the list, it took him another five minutes while listening to her admonish him in order to figure out that none of the other numbers could be it. And then, he had it. Looking up, he smiled, the crooked little boy smile of his that used to be Mom's favorite and was now reserved exclusively for her. Yes, she recognized it; she knew what it meant, and her reaction was immediate. The sixteen-year-old came out as she banished his foolish thoughts with a flick of her hand. "No way, Jack, I'm not taking off my clothes on this cam. Forget it. People can get into these things, and they'll see me. Besides, you've seen me several times - live and in color. What do you need to see me on a cam for?" But you'd convinced her, hadn't you, Jack? You had talked her into it as you did so many other times in your lives together.

It was a guess as to which number was first, but you had read her father's number in order and stopped, your grin as big as ever as you sat there to gloat a little. Then, very slowly, you had read out your old private number from your last apartment. She had objected and protested, but one by one, each piece of clothing had come off and been thrown to the floor. By the time she was down to her panties, she had gotten into it some. By the time the panties hit the floor, so had you, and that had been it. That had been the start of your cybersex experiences with Lisa. It wasn't a place the two of you had gone often, but it was a place that you both had found rewarding and fulfilling when needed - when actual physical contact just wasn't possible.

The stewardess with his fresh drink brought Jack back to the present, and he finally reached for the keyboard and typed the numbers. Password accepted. The machine began to load the software. A few minutes later and with very little fanfare, Jack found himself looking at the same picture he had hanging in his study as the wallpaper for her desktop. It was not a shock for he had known it was there, but the stark reality shook him a little.

Now what to do? He had never really taken his train of thought far enough to know what he might find or what to look for; he just knew he needed to look, just in case. Getting past the question of what might be found, he quickly went to the chat program and checked to see if, by chance, she had managed to record what took place. It wasn't something they did, but if she had time to get the sound muted, she might have had time to turn on the recorder without the killer seeing. But no, nothing was there. It left Jack relieved; he could not imagine watching it again. A quick scan of her 'My Photos' folder had rendered only personal pictures of family and friends, most of which he had on his own machine - nothing out of the ordinary there. Moving on to Lisa's 'My Documents' folders had shown him a list of numbered documents in Word and Excel - no titles or names, just numbers. Being a corporate lawyer, Lisa had been very careful of office documents that she might be working on at home. Three-digit numbers were used with the client designated by the first number and the document number by the second two. He browsed those quickly and found nothing of interest. If it were there, he was sure he'd never get past the document password; he would have no clue at all how.

Turning to her mail program, he clicked on the Outlook icon and found another password. Ten minutes later, after running the gambit of personal phone numbers they both used, he was in. It was set to check the mail on start up, and Jack had to wait a minute before he could check her mail folders because the machine decided no line was available, and it went off line. Moving quickly to 'Tools', he found the 'Options' menu choice and quickly changed the settings so the machine would no longer check for mail to make future access easier.

Scanning the folders, he discarded the ones he knew she used for work and him, looking instead for some other personal folder that might contain correspondence with someone else - someone unknown - the killer. At last, he found a folder named 'Other' and browsed slowly, scrolling down the list of mails. A few addresses he recognized - Juan and his sisters, a few college friends she had talked about, and some household business mails on paying bills and ordering books and music; even her grocer and butcher shop was there. There was also a florist that had been used three times - the last time a week before her death to send flowers to the last recipient, Jan Cranston in Miami. The note was to read 'Thanks so much, Lisa', and she was to be billed. Making a mental note to give the recipient a call and see if she knew anything, he moved on; it was probably a colleague that had helped on a case. Lisa had always said flowers were best for two things - a 'thank you' or an 'I love you'. But nothing else was out of the ordinary, no clues to take him to the killer.

He had almost missed it. Even though it was highlighted with a (2) beside it, he had looked past the 'Drafts' folder a couple of times. Clicking to open, he found two messages in draft. The first was addressed to him. His mind froze when he saw the subject, "I love you". Gently closing the lid on the computer, he pushed the tray table away and stood. He had to walk, had to let his mind wander before opening the mail. Her last words to him had been 'I love you'. And there it was; she had managed to say it again. He was sure it was one of their customary discussions of life, love, and devotion - something they never seemed to tire of and always found new details to highlight. But then he realized it may not be a coincidence; maybe, she wanted him to find the mail. Maybe a clue was to be found there.

Closing the restroom door, he returned to his seat and opened the machine again. Clicking on the mail, his first observation was that it was slightly longer than usual at two pages. Jack read as carefully as possible under the circumstances as his mind stumbled through the phrases - some familiar, some their mutual declarations, but two paragraphs were of particular interest.

"I have a surprise for you, Jack. One, I know many men would love and one, that only I can give you. No silly, I'm not pregnant, but maybe we can talk about that one soon. I want to tell you before I give you this special gift just how much I love you. The gift will never change us, Jack, no matter what you might think. I guess it might to some degree because it might add a new dimension to our definition of 'us', but that will be completely up to you and me.

I also want you to know before I give you my gift that you should enjoy it completely. Don't be afraid or worried about what I might think. I'm part of the gift, and if you don't enjoy it, then you wouldn't be enjoying me. So, some quiet Sunday afternoon soon, you will be surprised when we find each other. I do hope you enjoy, Jack; I've been contemplating this for a couple of months and finally found a way to make it happen."

Reading the letter again, he could find nothing specifically different or distinctive but those two paragraphs. There was reference to their meal the week before, a quick note about her coming week's schedule, and the normal assurances and wishes they always shared. Her closing was a little different in that it read 'I love you' instead of the usual 'Love, Lisa'. It struck Jack as odd, and he wondered if maybe it spoke of the two earlier paragraphs. She seemed to want to reinforce her love for him.

Minimizing the letter, he looked at the next mail in the 'Drafts' folder. There was no address. It seemed she hadn't finished it. Opening it, Jack found it was addressed to 'Darling Jan'. Wait, she had sent flowers to Jan shortly before her death. At first the letter was confusing, but then Jack was able to piece it all together.

I hope you don't mind the intimate opening, Jan, but thinking back to our long, late night chats it seems appropriate. It's funny that this is the first time a mail will actually be sent between us, but I felt a need to sit down calmly and open my mind to you completely. I know we had agreed not to exchange mail in order to avoid a possible emotional entanglement that we might regret in order to keep it safe for you and I as well as Jack and Hank, but please allow me this one indulgence. It won't happen again.