“I admired your work at the police yard. It was well executed.”
“Are you with Deja?” Gibson asked and regretted it immediately. It was a stupid question that did nothing but give information away cheaply. He’d get none in exchange.
The fisherman winced in mock sympathy at Gibson’s slip. “I’d like to offer my help.”
“You want to help me? How?”
“You have a Stingray—that’s good—but there are more cell phones in Niobe Prison than you’ve been led to believe. Do you know when Charles Merrick uses his? Because otherwise, think about the time and effort it will take to sort through all the background noise to pinpoint Merrick’s number. A week? Two? Does your schedule have that kind of leeway? Charles Merrick will be released in eleven days.”
Gibson knew it didn’t and had been fretting over this exact issue. “What are you offering?”
“The day and time.”
“Just like that? That’s a generous offer, but I already have a lot of partners. What exactly do you want in return?”
“Only your success, Mr. Vaughn.”
“Again, very generous. What’s your interest in all this?”
“That is between Charles Merrick and myself.”
Call him a cynic, but Gibson didn’t believe in selfless acts, and he didn’t like not knowing the agenda behind this generosity. What did Merrick have that was more valuable to this man than money?
“Who are you?” Gibson asked.
“I’m the gift horse,” the fisherman said. “Let’s leave my mouth out of it, yes?”
“Fair enough.”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“And if I say no?”
Knowing when to expect Merrick’s call would be a huge corner to cut, saving them at least a week. Gibson didn’t trust that this man had a generous bone in his body, and he didn’t like how much the fisherman knew about him or how little he knew about his new patron. It did underscore how unpredictable Niobe had become. They needed to get out of town as soon as possible.
“You’re not going to say no.”
Gibson knew that to be true. “When?”
“How soon will you be operational?”
“I need a couple of days to really master the software. It’s not overly complex, but I’m not ready to run it in the field yet.”
“That is unfortunate, because the next opportunity will be tomorrow. After that, Merrick’s schedule is murky.”
Gibson stared over at the Stingray and did some mental calculations. “Morning or afternoon?”
“Afternoon. Between two and four. Can you be ready?”
It would be cutting things close, very close, but it was feasible. It had to be done, so it would be done. Although it meant letting certain basics, such as eating and sleeping, go by the wayside.
“Then I won’t delay you any further. If I can be of any further assistance, hang a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on room 103.”
The door had hardly closed when there came a second knock at the door. Gibson expected the fisherman had forgotten something, but it was Lea with a paper sack of burgers and fries. His stomach rumbled at the sight of it. He hoped she was just dropping it off—he had no time for social calls—but she seemed intent on staying. They sat on the open back of the van and ate while he talked her through his progress.
“I should be ready to go by tomorrow, so I think we’re in good shape,” he said.
“I saw Jimmy Temple drinking at the bar in the Toproll.”
“So?”
“Jimmy never comes in. Never. No one went anywhere near him, like he was contagious. Looked like he’d stopped eating. Suit didn’t fit. Lost ten, maybe twenty pounds,” Lea said. “I asked him, was he okay. He said they just keep checking in. He didn’t sound happy about it either. He knows something bad is coming down. The whole town does.”
“And they’re right.”
“I think someone got to the sheriff. Margo said he’s been in and out of the hotel the last few days. It’s getting tense out there.”
“I know, Lea. I know. What’s your point?”
“Last night can’t happen again,” she said. “I don’t know what kind of deal you have with Swonger, but don’t play hero with my life again. You want me to back you again, don’t leave me in the dark like that. Does my hundred thousand buy me at least that much?”
“Is that why you did it?”
“Does it?”
“It won’t happen again.”
She studied his face, a picture of sincerity. “All right, then. I’ll leave you to it.”
After Lea left, he realized it hadn’t even occurred to him to tell her about the fisherman.
The third knock didn’t come for another few hours—this time it really was Swonger. Gibson opened the door for him and went back to work. Neither man spoke. Swonger dragged a Thule roof box into the garage and laid it out on the floor. He worked diligently on his solution to the antennae problem, cutting four slots into the roof box that the antennae would fit inside. Gibson helped secure it to the roof, and then the two men stood back and admired it. The only question it might raise was why a van would need rooftop storage; otherwise it worked well. Gibson was impressed.
“Nice work.” He held out the .45 to Swonger.
“Thanks.”
Gibson put a hand in his back pocket and touched the firing pin and stop. “I have another job for you.”
“Yeah?” Swonger sounded surprised, maybe even a little hopeful. His default cockiness hadn’t returned since Truck Noble had almost used him as a croquet ball. Gibson didn’t mind that at all.
“You seen the fisherman staying at the hotel?” Gibson asked.
“Asian dude? Yeah, once or twice.”
“I need to know how he’s spending his days.”
“You mean besides fishing?”
“Yeah,” Gibson snapped back. “Besides fishing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
While a Stingray could mimic a cell tower, it wasn’t one. So once a phone connected, it would take only a few seconds for the phone to realize it couldn’t make contact with its service provider, disconnect, and move on to the next strongest signal. But that was all the time it took for the Stingray to capture a phone number. It was an outstanding if highly controversial law-enforcement tool for tracking down a suspect’s phone. In earlier generations, that was as far as it went. Police hadn’t been able to listen in on conversations, because cell-phone data was encrypted at the source and could be decrypted only by the intended recipient.
That was no longer an issue.