31
Mary Varvara Bell
Tristan
The small hotel room was just a king-size bed and a bathroom, so Tristan had to wait until Colleen went to take her morning shower to make the phone call.
In any other circumstance, he would have stared at his phone for a good minute before he made the call, preparing, but Colleen could be quick in the shower.
He flicked back through his contacts.
Mary Varvara Bell.
When she’d called him a few days earlier, he’d saved the contact out of habit.
Tristan tapped the screen and held it to his ear. He needed to phrase his request and information in general terms because anyone could be listening in on their phone call.
A man’s voice answered the phone. “Yes.”
“This is Tristan King. I’m in the middle of a project for Ms. Bell, and I would like to speak to her.” He considered, then added, “If you would be so kind.”
“Dr. Bell,” the man corrected.
“Right. I’m sorry. Dr. Bell.”
“You shouldn’t have called this number,” the man said, his voice dropping. His accent was newscaster American, from anywhere and nowhere.
Tristan dialed up his British accent, keeping his words crisp. “I understand, and I wouldn’t have unless the need were dire.”
“What is it concerning?”
“Two of my associates were kidnapped and are being held by the Butorin organization. I was wondering if you could help.”
“That is not the nature of our project with you.”
“If you can help recover them, I can produce the requested stock at the close of business on Wednesday, which is two days earlier than anticipated.”
Tristan had no idea how he was going to do that.
The other man paused.
The pause lingered.
He said, “I’m putting you on hold.”
The phone went silent.
Tristan sat on the side of the bed in the hotel room, scratching his scruff of beard. Colleen had mentioned she’d like to see what it looked like if he grew it out. Perhaps he’d just clean the edges up that morning.
A woman’s dulcet alto voice emerged from his phone. “Tristan, I hear you have a problem.”
“Yes, Dr. Bell. It appears that two of our associates have been kidnapped by the Butorin organization. We have proof of life as of fifteen minutes ago.”
“We wouldn’t like to get involved with the Butorins’ problems.”
“We know where the two hostages are being held, right down to the room number.”
“It’s in a hotel?”
“The Boulders Resort in Tempe, Arizona.”
“Hotels make for difficult extractions, and that’s out of our usual territory.”
This was going exceptionally badly.
Tristan said, “During our last conversation, it seemed like you were eager to get the stock we mentioned. I can get that for you at the close of the market on Wednesday, or maybe a few hours afterward to gather it up and make the transfer.”
“While that’s tempting, Friday would be adequate for our purposes.”
Dammit. “Okay, how about this: calling you back on your phone was far too easy. It would take me a couple of weeks, but I could write you an app that scrambles your phone number and the GPS location of your phone to enhance your privacy.”
During her long pause that seemed to crackle over the phone’s cellular signal, and Tristan held his breath.
She finally said, “I’m listening.”
“Everyone is concerned about privacy these days. Wouldn’t it be a great benefit to yourself and your organization to be able to scramble both your phone numbers and GPS location?”
“Hold on.” Some other talking was muffled as if she’d put her hand over the phone. “Yes, we would be interested in such an app. For our involvement, you will produce the stock soon after the close of Wall Street on Wednesday, and you will deliver this app within two weeks.”
“A month,” Tristan said. “If I was just making it for myself, I could do it in two weeks, but you and your organization will need an interface that non-programmers can use. Coding the dashboard will take two weeks at least.”
“Done. Expect a phone call within a few hours with details of the extraction.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bell.”
“I’m glad I could do you a favor, Tristan, and it’s always nice to have people with useful skill sets in our organization. I hope you’ll think about a long-term offer.”
“I’m not in the market for that.”
“I can be very convincing. We’ll talk.”
They hung up.
If Jian and Anjali would be safe, it would be worth it.
Colleen emerged from the bathroom, fluffing her hair with a towel. Although her face was washed, her eyes were puffy like she’d been crying again.
Dammit.
If he told Colleen that a rescue operation was being launched, she would demand to be a part of it. She was an active person who did things, not the type who would sit back and wait for a video of the results.
And so was he.
Tristan told her, “I’m just about to call the Butorins to negotiate how to deliver the Anonymity program. We’ll get them out. I promise.”
She nodded.
He asked, “Can I borrow your computer?”
From her laptop, he went to his cloud storage, where he retrieved several naughty little programs he’d been working on, modified one a little under fifteen minutes, and uploaded it to his phone.
A knock clattered at the hotel room door.
Colleen about crawled up the headboard.
He patted her leg. “It’s okay. I ordered room service for breakfast and two lost-luggage kits with toothbrushes and combs and stuff from the store downstairs. I was thinking about ordering some clothes online with two-hour delivery.”
She said, “Huh. Being holed up with money is a lot better than with no money.”
“Indeed. Check the peephole when you answer the door. Then jump on your phone. I’ll give you my login. Put anything you need in the basket.”
She went to the door and called out, “We’re fine. Just leave it.” And then she waited before she opened the door and pulled the room service tray inside.
The scent of breakfast filled the hotel room. Tristan had ordered two of everything, and the drifting aroma of baked goods and bacon filled his nose and went straight to his brain.
He grabbed a few strips of crunchy, salty heaven whilst Colleen situated herself on the bed with her phone and the donuts.
With Colleen distracted with shopping for the necessities, Tristan walked to the other side of the room and called Jian’s phone.
She raised her voice and asked, “Hey, what size are you?”
Tristan flinched and held his finger to his lips. Damn, he didn’t want to give the Butorins any more information than necessary, even the fact that Colleen was still with him.
The line clicked when the phone connected.
The download started.
Tristan repressed a smile. He didn’t want his voice to sound happy. “Hello?”
A rough, Russian voice answered. “We tried to do things business way, Tristan King, and now we do things Russian way.”