Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(30)

u can do that?

f*ck no! none of this is possible! We r crazy, remember? that hasnt held us back so far! play with the analogs! use it! do it!!!

stop shouting she typed primly. Silence for a moment, and then a hot pink Hello Kitty camera? seriously? lmao

He was embarrassed about the pink camera, but his mind had seized on the first small digital camera in his memory banks, which was Cindy’s. sorry u dont like it shut up and take the picture

He wanted to cheer, a minute later or so when a multimedia message flashed on his inner screen. He clicked on it. A photo filled the screen. It worked. Holy shit, it actually worked. Lara rocked.

Jason Hu had sallow skin, a thin mouth. Miles memorized his sour mug as another message icon flashed. Anabel, minus her mind-bending sexual glow. Without it, she looked like what she truly was. A bloodthirsty hell bitch. She should’ve been beautiful, but wasn’t, not with those fixed, staring eyes, the tense jaw, the flattened mouth.

dont c the point with no fix on location Lara told him.

Miles imagined sending an image of the horned hill. click on that

omg! that is what i see outside the window! wtf?

ur in central Oregon he wrote. near Kolita Springs

how the hell did u find that out?

He tried not to feel smug. L8r he typed again. Time enough later to explain about Matilda, her photo. Her murder. Painful revelations could wait. They had to stay crystal clear and focused.

what r u going 2 do now? she asked.

not sure yet he typed. improvising. driving, now. signing off to go do some hacking on leah. u sticking around in here?

u could not pry me out.

He felt absurdly pleased. good. hang out. chill. while ur here, make a list of everything that might help me. take pictures, draw floor plans. put it together 4 me. help me 2 help u.

ok one thing tho

?? he queried.

who r u?

my name is miles he told her. more L8r ttyl

He wrenched his mind away. Time to face the real world.

The shift was jarring. The mental computer did not assault his senses the way the physical world did. Besides. He liked talking to her.

He could use a shower, after the day of strenuous hiking, but he was like a hound on the scent, now. He drove straight to Good Sam, and cruised the hospital campus until he found what he was looking for. A Starbucks, close enough to be a hospital staff hangout and caffeine refuel station. A quick search on his smartphone had revealed that there were hundreds of Good Sams all over the country, just as Lara had said, many of them specializing in cancer care and/or gastroenterology. But there was one right here in Portland, too, and if Lara’s keeper worked at the complex where Miles had been sniffing around all day, chances were good to excellent that the guy’s wife’s surgery was here.

He set up shop in the Starbucks. Ordered a few sandwiches from the stuff displayed at the counter, and a soda. Glucose, for his hungry brain. The food slipped right down. It felt good to feed honest hunger again. The furnace inside him had finally fired up and demanded fuel.

He was counting on fate to help him improvise a strategy, and halfway through his second cranberry scone, fate delivered. A tired, white-coated doctor came in and got himself a beverage. He sat down at the table not far from Miles, sucking on his coffee while pulling out his tablet, tapping into it. Miles was at the ready, and when the guy tried to connect to the Starbucks wifi, his device was lured by the siren signal of Miles’ computer instead. The guy got frustrated, frowning and tapping, but not before Miles had capured the crucial pcaps.

He got right to it, analyzing with the software that he’d developed with Aaro last year. He teased out the username and password of Dr. Walter Milhausen, cardiologist, then logged remotely onto the hospital’s system and poked around until he found the OR calendar. Meanwhile Dr. Milhousen cursed, stabbing and swiping at his tablet, in vain. Bummer for him.

There was a Leah Halpert scheduled for tomorrow. Thirty-six years old. Gastro surgery at six A.M. Halpert, Hu. She was the right age. The names were different, but it would be weirder if Hu did share a name with his wife, considering what he was.

By the time the cardiologist had given up and stomped out of the coffee shop in disgust, Miles had scanned and memorized the names of the staff who would be attending her, and trolled the patient database for Leah Halpert’s home address. Kolita Springs.

Yow. More shock-and-awe juice pumped into his bloodstream. He accessed everything he could in Leah Halpert’s medical records, in super-info-suck mode. A clock ticked ominously in the back of his mind. Counting off to what, he did not know.

He called Connor as he ran back out to the pick-up. Time to shamelessly exploit his friend’s FBI connections, which was way quicker than hacking the DMV.

Con picked up right away. “What’s up?”

“Need a favor.”

“Name it.” Con was a man of few words, like all his brothers. Except for Sean, who made up for the other three most abundantly.

“I need the license, make, and models of any vehicles belonging to a man who might be either Jason Halpert or Jason Hu, resident of Kolita Springs, Oregon. 1395 Pine Crest Road. Also a Leah Halpert.”

“On it,” Con said, and broke the connection.

Of course, there was no guarantee that Hu would actually show at Good Sam, after the big boss had nixed it. But it was worth a try.

His cell buzzed, and he dove for it. “So?”