The Planck Factor

Chapter 37

Jessica Evans

I glanced about, wondering about hidden cameras or microphones, then positioned the flash drive at the USB port and paused to consider before I shoved it into place.

I accessed the flash drive and found several folders. I opened one that said "Invoices." This displayed an array of files. Word and PDF documents.

At random, I double-clicked a file. It was an invoice for drilling equipment. I shook my head and tried opening another. Geologic surveys.

"What the . . . ?" I shut my mouth. If the room were bugged, I didn't want to clue anyone in on my thoughts. Were these people drilling around fault lines? Planting explosives? Mining uranium? Is that what Selby's part in all this was?

I shook my head at that last thought. Not uranium. They could probably pick up the materials to make a bomb on the black market much more easily than they could dig for it themselves.

I went back to the folders and found one that read "Maps." I opened it to see even more files—all PDF.

I clicked on one and saw a topographical map. Could it be of the San Andreas Fault? It didn't look like it. I saw a river, but that was all. I was still straining to find a fault line when Lucius came inside.

Before I could act, Lucius strode over. "What are you doing?" Cyn stood to my other side, saying nothing.

"I . . ." He stood beside me, glaring at the computer screen.

Lucius' face turned red, then purple with rage. He started to speak, but all I heard was an odd popping sound.

Open-mouthed, Lucius stumbled and grabbed the desk. He'd sprung a leak in his upper chest and blood was coursing out.

I heard the noise again and Lucius collapsed. I looked at Cyn, who held a silenced pistol, still smoldering from the shots.

I started to say something, but she lifted a finger to her lips and moved toward me.

With shaky hands, I switched back to the document I'd been working on and typed, "WTF?"

"It looks like you're making progress," she said aloud, setting the gun on the desk and placing her hands on the keyboard.

She typed, "Room is bugged. Copied files from their computer this AM. Haven't seen yet."

I considered how to proceed. How do I word this? Is this a trap? Finally, I typed, "Why?"

Cyn read my response and typed, "I'm undercover with Feds. Do files make sense?"

I blinked and stared. All this time. Who would've known Cynthia was the operative?