Bad Glass

“What does it do?” I asked. “What would somebody use it for?”

Charlie shrugged. “Standard stuff. Connecting computers in a network.” He held up the camera and pointed at the image. “Those wires are heavy-duty coax, so this setup could potentially cover quite a bit of ground. And the LEDs on top? Each indicates a live connection—a computer, another hub, a printer—so there are at least eight nodes on this network. Possibly more if they’ve chained together additional hubs.”

“Would it work for audio? Voice traffic?”

“Sure. You could send pretty much anything down this type of line. As long as it’s digitized.”

I nodded. I’d already guessed at most of these answers; it was all pretty standard stuff. It was this next bit I really wanted to know: “Let’s say you were able to get your hands on one of these lines, in the middle of a network. Would you be able to listen in? Would you be able to hear what’s going down the wire?”

Charlie paused, a concerned look on his face. “Yeah. At least theoretically, you’d be able to sniff out all of the information flowing over the network. You might not be able to understand it if it’s encrypted, but you’d be able to get it.”

I nodded and smiled.

“What is this, Dean?” Charlie asked, moving uncomfortably in his seat. “Is this part of the military’s setup here in the city? Did you take this picture at the courthouse?”

For a moment, I was tempted to tell him the truth. I was tempted to tell him all about Devon’s radio, and the tunnels, and the network hidden beneath the city. But finally I decided against it. He had enough to worry about. Besides, I wanted Taylor to hear it first. When it came to this house, and the people in it, she was in charge. She would know what to do.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” I lied, forcing a smile onto my lips. “There’s abandoned computer shit all over the city. I was just wondering what it might be worth back home.”

Charlie managed a surprised flurry of blinks. Then he offered up a sly smile. “Hell, if that’s your scam, don’t waste your time with this junk.” He held up the camera, indicating the junction box on its screen. “After I finish up with your forum post, I’ll point you toward the real moneymakers … for a small cut of the profit, of course.” He let out a loud laugh, then turned back toward his computer.

There was a wide, boyish grin on his face as he got back to work. It was good to see him smile. For a time, at least, he actually looked his age.

Taylor and Danny showed up a little after sunset, carrying a cardboard box filled with booze. Bottles of Wild Turkey and Bombay Sapphire.

“Some guys in my unit went AWOL for a couple of days,” Danny explained, flashing a lopsided grin. “I covered for them, and they were so grateful, they brought me back some gifts. I thought I’d share the spoils.”

We built a fire in the living room and sat around drinking bourbon and gin out of mismatched glasses. Amanda and Mac joined us, but Charlie stayed in the kitchen, finishing up work on the thumb drive.

“Where’s everyone else?” Taylor asked.

“Sabine’s with Mama Cass,” Amanda said. “I think they’re working on something. Some type of project.”

“And Floyd’s upstairs, brooding,” I added. “As for Devon …” I just shrugged. For all I knew, the tunnel had swallowed Devon whole.

Or maybe he’s standing right across the street, I thought, watching us from his second-story window. Watching us drink. Taking notes. Planning diabolical plans.

I stared down at the bourbon in my glass. It glowed gold in the firelight, shining like liquid honey. Those first few sips had hit me hard, heightening the effects of the oxycodone in my blood. I flexed my hand and felt the skin tighten around my wounds. The pain was still there, but distant, a tickle up and down the length of my forearm. Distant, as if I were experiencing a wound on someone else’s body.

I glanced up and caught Amanda midsentence: “—so hard. I thought he was dead for sure!”

“Yeah,” Danny said. “Fucker’s lucky to be alive. He fell three stories and walked away with nothing but a bad bruise and a sprained foot.” Danny paused, and a thoughtful look came across his face. “Of course, he hasn’t said anything yet, and we can’t figure out what happened. He’s in some type of … waking coma. The medics have to keep him sedated all the time; otherwise he tries to get up and walk away. It’s like that’s the only thing he knows how to do anymore. Walk. Like that’s the only thing left in his head.”

I shivered, remembering how it had looked: the soldier plummeting from the hospital window, hitting the ground hard, then getting up and lurching away.