They had recorded their conversation, duct-taped the recorders to the phones, had one phone call the other, and sent them in different directions—one under the tarp of a ski boat attached to a Suburban and one in the open bed of a pickup truck. Julia had no doubt their pursuers would key in on the signal. Their ability to intercept the SATD and find them in Knoxville told her they had the technology and were actively seeking them. She only hoped it would take them a long time to track down the cell phones. On the recordings, she hadn't mentioned any possible key phrases for fifteen minutes. That would give them time to distance themselves from the phones. The mini-cassette tapes were thirty minutes long. After that, the dead air would cause the phones to disconnect. If their pursuers had yet to find the phones, they would not be able to pinpoint the signals—because there would be no signals—and would have to search everywhere along I-40.
She'd forgotten about that. If it wasn't one thing, it was twenty.
"So you think they're off our tail now?" Allen wanted to know.
"For a while . . . I hope."
"Now what?"
"We find out what Vero gave his life to bring to us."
She told them about the memory chip, where she'd found it, and how she had to contact a friend to help her access the data.
"You have this chip, but you can't read it, and you don't have the data your friend converted? So what's your plan?" Allen looked as though he'd been hit with a bat.
"I'm going to get the data, Allen, all right?" She wanted to smack him. In his smug expression she saw someone used to predictability, someone who didn't just prefer order over chaos but required it. She saw . . . She saw someone who was frightened and wanted everything to go back to normal. She realized they were all on edge. His frustration came from the same well as hers.
"Look, I don't have all the answers. I don't have
She plugged her laptop into a cigarette lighter receptacle, then connected the other cell phone she'd purchased to the laptop. Allen watched her.
"While we're moving," she explained, "I can't use the device that connects me to Wi-Fi, and I don't want to stay in one place long enough to get the file transfer. So I got a third clone-phone. Bonsai gave me a direct number to his server. It'll be slow, but it's secure and we can do it while we're heading back to Atlanta."
"That's what I don't understand," Stephen said from the driver's seat. They were traveling south on I-75, which would take them through Chattanooga and on to Atlanta. "Why there?"
"Atlanta? It's where all this started, for Goody and me anyway. And it's my home turf; I may be able to tap some resources I couldn't somewhere else."
"Like what?" Allen asked.
"I don't know, Allen. Maybe it's just a comfort factor."
Consulting a notepad, she punched a number into the cell phone. A moment later, the laptop indicated that it was connected to a server. She called up Bonsai's web site and started the transfer of Vero's data.
"This is going to take awhile."
"What's awhile?" Allen asked.
Julia shrugged. "I'll know in a minute." She waited for the program to receive enough data to extrapolate an estimated completion time. "I'm hoping we can view it before reaching Atlanta."
"That's about three, three and a half hours," Stephen informed her.
Three digits appeared on the screen. She stared at them numbly, then reported, "Six hours and twenty-three minutes."
When you start marking time by the number of attempts on your life you've survived, six hours seems an eternity.
She cleared her throat.
On the way to meet the clone-phoner, they'd stopped by a grocery store for a supply of food and drinks. Now Allen reached into a small Styrofoam ice bucket in the foot well and pulled out a Pepsi. He handed it to Julia.
She nodded her thanks and took a swig.
They rode in silence. Stephen clutched the wheel in both hands and checked the side mirrors with obsessive frequency. Allen rolled an unopened Dr Pepper between his palms and stared out the windshield. Julia leaned back, hiked a shoeless foot up onto the chair, and thought about the events since Goody's phone call yesterday morning. She carefully considered every word she could remember, every move she'd made or seen, searching for a question that needed answering, a clue that needed exploring. They were there, waiting for discovery. They always were.
fifty-four
