“Which way to the parking lot?” He reasoned that when they finally realized he was the one who had taken the charge card, they would first search the place they thought he was headed: to a car, out back, in the lot.
“Behind you, just past the shoe department.” He turned to look where she was pointing, as did the woman whose card he was now palming.
“You sure it’s not that way?” he asked, pointing in the opposite direction as he slipped the card into his front pocket.
The woman forced a smile, trying to mask her impatience. “I’m sure. It’s back that way, behind you.”
“Must’ve gotten turned around,” Chambers said as he flashed an embarrassed smile. He turned and quickly made his way down the aisle in the direction of the parking lot. As soon as he was out of view, he circled around the store and headed back toward the mall.
As Chambers was approaching men’s sportswear, he heard an announcement over the public address system. “Security to women’s petite, security to women’s petite.” He grabbed a blue baseball cap, tore the tag off, and pulled it down over his head.
A minute later he was back in the mall, hobbling toward the GlobalNet kiosk. He was only hoping he could swipe the card before the bank put a hold on the number. Even if the woman—Ellen Haskins, according to the name on the card—reported the theft immediately, he figured it would take a few moments for them to take the information and freeze the account.
Only a few steps away now, he could see that the chair was occupied by a youth about eighteen years old.
“Hey, you going to be long?” Chambers asked, trying to allow some of the urgency to pervade his voice.
“A few more minutes,” the youth said, keeping his face glued to the screen.
Chambers glanced around. He waited another few seconds, then leaned over the teen’s shoulder. “Look, I need to log on, get a message out. It’s real important.”
“Hang a second, dude, and I’ll finish my surfing. Just checkin’ the scores. ESPN just posted the—”
“That’s great. But this is urgent. I need to get online.”
“If it’s that important, why don’t you just use your phone,” the kid said, brushing the long, stringy hair off his face.
“Why don’t you?”
“Don’t have a data plan.”
Chambers looked around, back toward Dillard’s, to make sure the search for him wasn’t spilling into the mall. “Me, either.”
“Whatever. It’s yours.” The youth stood and shuffled off, his baggy jeans rubbing against themselves as he headed away from the kiosk.
Chambers settled into the seat, held his breath, and swiped Ellen Haskins’s card. A few seconds passed. He suddenly became aware of his heart thumping as he peered around the edge of the kiosk, expecting to see security guards heading his way.
Just then, an acknowledgment popped up on the screen. The GlobalNet homepage came into focus and he clicked on the Hotmail ad banner. He zipped through a series of welcome and registration screens until he was confronted with the field that asked for his name and a user ID, which would become his e-mail address. He thought for a second, then chose [email protected] as his address.
Finally, he was logged in as a registered user. He hit the COMPOSE MESSAGE link and waited for the screen to appear.
With his fingers poised over the keyboard, he took a second to glance around the mall. Two men in dark suits were a little past Dillard’s, their heads rubbernecking back and forth.
Walking in his direction.
No doubt looking for him.
11
Douglas Knox was pacing his expansive suite at FBI headquarters, one of several offices in the high security area known as Mahogany Row, so named because of its wood paneling.
Up six steps, back six steps. Before turning, Knox would glance out his window at downtown D.C., then spin and resume his pacing. Each time, the same number of steps. A path had been worn into his carpet twice in the past two years,
“Behind you, just past the shoe department.” He turned to look where she was pointing, as did the woman whose card he was now palming.
“You sure it’s not that way?” he asked, pointing in the opposite direction as he slipped the card into his front pocket.
The woman forced a smile, trying to mask her impatience. “I’m sure. It’s back that way, behind you.”
“Must’ve gotten turned around,” Chambers said as he flashed an embarrassed smile. He turned and quickly made his way down the aisle in the direction of the parking lot. As soon as he was out of view, he circled around the store and headed back toward the mall.
As Chambers was approaching men’s sportswear, he heard an announcement over the public address system. “Security to women’s petite, security to women’s petite.” He grabbed a blue baseball cap, tore the tag off, and pulled it down over his head.
A minute later he was back in the mall, hobbling toward the GlobalNet kiosk. He was only hoping he could swipe the card before the bank put a hold on the number. Even if the woman—Ellen Haskins, according to the name on the card—reported the theft immediately, he figured it would take a few moments for them to take the information and freeze the account.
Only a few steps away now, he could see that the chair was occupied by a youth about eighteen years old.
“Hey, you going to be long?” Chambers asked, trying to allow some of the urgency to pervade his voice.
“A few more minutes,” the youth said, keeping his face glued to the screen.
Chambers glanced around. He waited another few seconds, then leaned over the teen’s shoulder. “Look, I need to log on, get a message out. It’s real important.”
“Hang a second, dude, and I’ll finish my surfing. Just checkin’ the scores. ESPN just posted the—”
“That’s great. But this is urgent. I need to get online.”
“If it’s that important, why don’t you just use your phone,” the kid said, brushing the long, stringy hair off his face.
“Why don’t you?”
“Don’t have a data plan.”
Chambers looked around, back toward Dillard’s, to make sure the search for him wasn’t spilling into the mall. “Me, either.”
“Whatever. It’s yours.” The youth stood and shuffled off, his baggy jeans rubbing against themselves as he headed away from the kiosk.
Chambers settled into the seat, held his breath, and swiped Ellen Haskins’s card. A few seconds passed. He suddenly became aware of his heart thumping as he peered around the edge of the kiosk, expecting to see security guards heading his way.
Just then, an acknowledgment popped up on the screen. The GlobalNet homepage came into focus and he clicked on the Hotmail ad banner. He zipped through a series of welcome and registration screens until he was confronted with the field that asked for his name and a user ID, which would become his e-mail address. He thought for a second, then chose [email protected] as his address.
Finally, he was logged in as a registered user. He hit the COMPOSE MESSAGE link and waited for the screen to appear.
With his fingers poised over the keyboard, he took a second to glance around the mall. Two men in dark suits were a little past Dillard’s, their heads rubbernecking back and forth.
Walking in his direction.
No doubt looking for him.
11
Douglas Knox was pacing his expansive suite at FBI headquarters, one of several offices in the high security area known as Mahogany Row, so named because of its wood paneling.
Up six steps, back six steps. Before turning, Knox would glance out his window at downtown D.C., then spin and resume his pacing. Each time, the same number of steps. A path had been worn into his carpet twice in the past two years,
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