The Living End (Daniel Faust #3)(77)

Bob had also left a pair of plastic water bottles, along with a yellow sticky note that read “Drink me.” I cracked them open and guzzled them down one after the other, fighting off the dehydration. I had dirty, thirsty work ahead.

An hour later I was on the move, pulling away from the abandoned laboratory in Bob’s little yellow hatchback. It was a rental, but I didn’t bother returning it. Didn’t want to risk being seen driving it, especially not on a security camera. Bob Payton was on his way to becoming a missing person in some police station’s database.

He would be missing forever.

I made one stop on my way back to JFK, a FedEx store where I arranged overnight delivery for a package to a Vegas mail drop. Then it was straight to the airport and onto the first nonstop flight I could book. Back to the West, away from the thundering slate sky and into a world of trouble.

? ? ?

The Wardriver sat in a parking garage two blocks off the Strip, just another hunk of junk rusting in the dark. Someone would have to get close to notice the faint green light leaking from the tinted windows, or pick up the muffled hum of the modified engine running in stealth mode as it fed power from the battery to the electronics suite in the back.

“I took all the recordings we could get,” Pixie said, “from the phone call with Roth and what I could pick up inside the house. I was missing a few phonemes, but that’s the nice thing about government stooges. They’re always on television, running their mouths. Lots of raw sound to work with.”

I leaned in behind her while she demonstrated the program running on the biggest screen.

“Soundboard,” Pixie explained. “You click it, he says it.”

She scrolled her mouse over a bubble of text and clicked. From tinny speakers mounted over the console, Alton Roth’s voice said, “Meadow?”

“Pitch is the problem,” Pixie said. “People don’t talk in monotones. A statement can turn into a question, and vice versa, with just a lift or a drop in your voice. I’ve played with these clips as much as I can, but at the end of the day, that’s all you’ve got: clips. The longer you push it, the more obvious it’s going to be. Don’t get into a conversation with her. Get in and get out.”

“No worries there,” I said.

“I went through and pieced together a bunch of clips I think you’ll need. I cleaned them up as best as I could and played with the pitch. I’ll feed some static into the line, so he’ll be hard to hear. That’ll help.”

I nodded. “And it’ll look like the call’s coming from Roth?”

“Sure, assuming you copied his number down right when you checked out his phone. You…can handle writing down ten digits in a row, right?”

“Dunno,” I said. “I’m pretty bad at math. Guess we’ll find out.”

I took her chair, and she handed me a headset. She sat down in the chair next to me, fiddling with dials and mixers with a consternated look on her face.

“Okay,” she said, “the sound mix is as good as I can get it. You ready to do this?”

I gave her a thumbs-up. I wished I felt as confident as I looked. Our best and probably last chance at getting a noose around Meadow Brand’s throat, and it was basically a high-tech version of a prank call on a wacky morning radio show. I didn’t like our odds.

“Dialing,” Pixie said. I scanned the words on the monitor, reading fast and trying to memorize the lay of the land. When Meadow spoke, I’d have seconds to react, picking the right response from a list of dozens. With no guarantee that there was a right response.

Meadow’s voice echoed over my headset. My hand clenched the mouse, a reflex spasm of hate.

“What?” she said, irritated.

I clicked fast.

“Meadow,” Roth’s voice said, then a short pause. “It’s Alton Roth.”

“Yeah, I know. I have caller ID just like everyone else on the planet, chucklehead. What are you doing, calling from inside a wind tunnel? I can barely hear you. What do you want?”

“Lauren’s a traitor,” Roth said. Pixie had taken the original question Roth had asked me and pitch-shifted it, turning it into a flat accusation.

“What the f*ck did you just say?”

Meadow’s voice sounded more angry than surprised. After the fight at Lauren’s house, I think she was long past any lingering feelings of loyalty to her mistress.

“Lauren’s trying to kill me. After all I’ve done for her!” Roth said. I fumbled, nearly missing the next click. “You’re next.”

Meadow whistled, long and low.

“Gotta say I saw that coming,” she said. “I figured she was going to do it at the ceremony, though. You know, stab us both in the back right before killing herself with this stupid plan of hers. I was just holding out for one last paycheck before I blew town. Well, that’s it for me then! I’m packing my shit and heading for Costa Rica. You should probably do the same thing.”

“Meet with me.”

“Huh?” Meadow said. “Why would I wanna do that?”

I blanked.

Scanning the screen, I searched for something that would answer her question. Pixie cranked up the static, then leaned in and tapped her finger frantically on the glass. I clicked where she pointed.

“Money,” Roth said at the tail end of the static burst.