“Grant Carlson… we meet again.”Dieter’s real voice is different from Epicurus’s. The main difference is it’s higher pitched. He must have used audio manipulation software, both to disguise his voice and to make it sound more threatening. But the rhythms are the same, and the slight European accent is the same.Grant laughs for several seconds, the kind of laugh when you realize the universe has played a dirty trick on you. Then he shakes his head wearily. “Hello, Dieter.”Wait – What?!“Grant knows who this guy is?!” Mailin asks, floored.Everybody, including Duplass, tries to crowd around the monitor.“How’s the house working out for you?” Grant continues.Holy shit.“He must have designed Dieter’s house,” I mutter.“Magnificently. Even better than the mansion you designed for Erickson.”“Who’s Erickson?” Duplass demands, but Grant answers the question for us.“Then why’d you have to go and burn it down? I liked that house.”“I liked it, too. All those lovely, hidden rooms… simply
There’s a pretty big McMansion inside the gated compound. Nobody’s home – which is what I discovered by hacking the house’s security network, and why I chose this house instead of all the others bordering Epicurus’s property. That’s crucial to my plan.So is leaving Duplass and Mailin behind.The limo is parked next to the McMansion. The car doors are open, the windows are down, and Mailin and Tony the driver are handcuffed to the metal door frames. The handcuff keys glitter tantalizingly in the grass about twenty feet out of reach. Duplass is slumped unconscious on the backseat, though he’s still chained to his car door, too.“This is a FUCKED UP PLAN, Eve!” Mailin yells angrily.We all ignore him as JP picks the lock on the McMansion’s front door. I’ve already deactivated the alarm, so there’s no chance a security company or the police are coming.Once JP and Dominique are inside, I hold a cell phone out to Mailin. “Do it like I told you: call the FBI and get a strike team for Epicu
Inside the empty McMansion, we’re preparing for war. I use the laptop to comb through thousands of Epicurus’s computer files. At the same time, I keep thumbnails of his security camera feeds onscreen, waiting for Grant to appear.JP is using the McMansion family computer to access Epicurus’s security system through a backdoor I created specifically for him.Dominique has spread out all our available resources on a table. There are three cell phones – one each from Tony the driver, Mailin, and Duplass, not to mention Duplass’s Bluetooth earpiece. There’s the contents from my backpack. The cash and credit cards are worthless, but there are several GPS trackers still left, plus some tubes of super glue.As for guns, we have five: one semi-automatic pistol from Grant, plus four more from the FBI – two from Mailin and Duplass, and two from their fallen comrades. All in all, there are about 100 bullets. Hopefully that will be more than enough.I stop hacking for a minute and stare at all
Then I switch back to the plan. Because what I really want is for me and Grant to come out of this alive.First I make a series of preparations that are absolutely necessary. For instance:Audio of me saying various things, in case I need to distract Epicurus but can’t speak aloud. I’m inspired by my Al Pacino soundboard, so I use the program to record a bunch of elements I think I might be able to string together into a semi-coherent conversation.Also, five-minute-long video loops of blank footage for every outside camera on the property. That’s so Dominique and I can approach the mansion undetected by Epicurus’s security detail – at least as long as they’re only watching the video cameras. Running across any guards face-to-face will be a different matter.A list of usernames and passwords for all of Epicurus’s computer systems, courtesy of the NSA’s backdoor.Then I bring up schematics of Epicurus’s house. How’d I get them? From Grant’s online vault of client blueprints. I found th
I am on the land surrounding Epicurus’s property, and I am running for my life.More accurately, I am running for Grant’s life.There are pre-recorded video loops on all the surveillance cameras on the property. If Epicurus has someone watching the cameras, all they will see is a grove of orange trees and grassy fields, instead of a twenty-something chick hauling ass.Thank God I told Marcel I wanted jeans and tennis shoes. This would be a complete travesty if I were in a skirt and heels.I’m also wearing Grant’s backpack, the one we jumped out of the New York skyscraper with. Inside is my laptop, two tubes of superglue, a GPS chip, a cell phone, and Mailin’s government-issued handgun.In my hand is one of the other pistols. I don’t really know how to use it, other than point and pull the trigger, but I have it just in case.In case of what, I don’t want to consider.Dominique should be about 500 feet to my left. The McMansion abuts Epicurus’s property, and we started off at different
I switch to a view of the plastic room and wince in apprehension of seeing Grant in pain – but Epicurus seems to still be in gloat mode.I click a button on my laptop, the soundboard activates, and an audio clip of my voice plays over the loudspeaker in the plastic-wrapped room beneath me – just like Al Pacino or Arnold Schwarzenegger. I can hear it distinctly, even in the air duct.“Heeeeey Epicurus. Or should I say, ‘Dieter’?”The shock on Epicurus’s face is something to behold. I have to stifle a laugh as he whirls around like a surprised baboon.“WHAT?! NO! How did you find me?!”I muted all audio from the laptop, so I’m actually hearing him shout from right beneath me. He’s more than loud enough for his voice to carry through the reinforced metal.I click a button, and my voice speaks in the room beneath me. “It was easy. TOO easy.”While Epicurus continues to flail about like a chimp on crack, I check the surveillance feeds in the rest of the house. The audio may be silent, but
The first thing I hear after the ringing in my ears subsides a little is Grant’s frantic voice.“EVE! Eve, are you okay?!”“I’m fine, I’m fine!” I yell back at him from the ground.The FBI agents swarm in, hollering at everybody to drop their guns. Since Grant doesn’t have one – and since he’s obviously strapped down to the bed – he’s safe. As for me, I tell them right away about the pistol in the back of my jeans. I also make sure my hands are high in the air when I do it.“GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!” they scream. “HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!”I move very slowly into position, careful not to spook them. Once I’m spread-eagle facedown, they slip the gun out of my waistband, then zip-tie my wrists and hoist me roughly to my feet.I try not to look at Epicurus’s dead body. I feel bad, though God knows there’s no reason to. He was a serial killer. He was going to torture Grant to death, and he would have happily done the same to me. He was a deranged psychopath, a nightmare wrapped in huma
I sit there in shock. All I can think of is, Did he just SAY that?“‘Crucified’ is hardly the way an objective investigator would talk, Agent Duplass,” Grant says. Somehow he still manages to sound calm and composed.“Objectivity went out the window when I lost my two agents in Paris – in part because of your illegal activities, I might add.”“Epicurus had them killed!” I cry out.“I have no proof of that,” Duplass says coldly.“Then who the hell do you think killed them?!”“The same gunmen who abducted Mr. Carlson in Paris.”“Who were PAID by Epicurus!”“I have no proof of that.”“Jesus, are you trying to be obtuse?” I ask angrily. “Why the hell do you think they brought Grant to San Francisco in the first place?”“All I know is that my agents were killed by a group of unidentified gunmen. Until we find out more, I’m not going to speculate.”“You’re not going to speculate,” I repeat, half-mocking, half disbelieving.“No. I only care about the truth,” Duplass says in that self-righteo