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“What do you know?” I asked.
“Oh nothing,” he said. He waved his hand in the air and shook it. “Just everything. I mean for Christ’s sake, they only made themselves completely obvious by over-complicating their security. If you want to get away with anything, don't make things so obvious.”
Brandon stepped forward, up beside me then. “Can you tell us where the core is located?”
“Oh no,” Doyle said. He cradled the gun in one arm and pointed a finger at Brandon. “Listen here, junior. If you knew anything about this core, you'd stay away from it. I mean, it is a shitty piece of work. The only thing that made it at all difficult was the security dog packet thingie. But then you don't really have to bust through the security when members blab their own password in person when they talk on their regular cell phone lines. The thing about security is it could be the best in the world, but a person with a password is the weakest link.”
“Doyle!” I snapped my fingers at him. I was trying to remember how Blake negotiated with him. “What do you want for information about where the core is? We need to find it. I’m not asking for you to get involved. I wasn’t even here. I just want an address.”
Doyle tightened his mouth. His hair fell into his face and he raked it back. “I need some cigarettes. I'm out. I'm a mess when I'm out.”
“Why didn't you go get some?”
“Do I have to do everything around here?” he asked. “And I think I need a new microwave. This one is busted.”
“Do you want cigarettes or a microwave?” Brandon asked. “I've got a motorcycle. I can't carry both.”
“What are you? An ape? Use your brain.” Doyle pointed at his own head. “I'm not even asking enough. This is shit I could die from if you hint at who told them...”
“Don't make me tell NSA you're listening in,” I said.
“Tell the fuckers,” he said. “It's their line I'm borrowing. They'll just put another shitty protocol up that I'll have to work around. And there’s no proof here that I’m listening to them.” He pointed again at us. “One of you go fetch what I want and I'll give the other the info. I prefer the female, but I'm only saying that because I'm not gay.”
If I didn't know he could get the information we wanted, I'd have wrestled him to the ground and get Brandon to teabag him for good measure. I eyeballed Brandon, asking him quietly to go get a microwave and cigarettes. It wasn't like I'd be able to buy anything myself.
Brandon sighed heavily, lifting up his hands in a gesture of defeat. “You're lucky I grabbed some cash out of the till at my shop before I left.”
COMPANY PROPERTY
Doyle had the location of the core before Brandon got back with a microwave strapped to the back seat of the bike with bungee cords and a couple of cartons of cigarettes tucked under his arms.
With a few more curses, Doyle took his payment and we were on our way.
An hour later, Brandon and I were stopped in front of the gate blocking off access to Kiawah Island. My legs were icicles, but my chest was sweating underneath the heavy sweatshirt and from being pressed up against Brandon. I imagined my hair was looking like an 80’s teased style and could effectively have worked as its own helmet.
The guard at the gate greeted us with a smile. “Good morning,” she said.
I was tense. I'd never been to Kiawah, but then, I never would have gone willingly. I didn't like even the thought of the place. The whole island was basically owned by the rich. Security blocked off everyone except people who lived here and who worked for the people who lived there. It wasn’t exactly my social circle. But then, even if I was rich, I wouldn’t live here. It felt too much like cutting out the real world, and normal people weren’t good enough to come check it out.
“Hi,” Brandon said. He took off his helmet and presented a smile. “Is the gift shop open?”
“Sure is,” she said. “You know where it is?”
“Yeah,” Brandon said.
The woman nodded and then moved the lever that lifted the barrier.
That was how easy it is to get on the island? If I'd known...probably wouldn't have made a difference. I was still thinking like a thief. It just seemed silly anyone could enter the island to access the gift shop.
After a few more minutes on the bike, Brandon parked in a lot facing a hot tub and swimming pool that overlooked a beach.
“Oh my god,” I said, stripping off the helmet and blowing hot air toward the scene. There was the gift shop nestled into a quiet corner of the parking lot. Even with the few cars parked, there was no one around. I felt safe venting about how flabbergasted I was at this scene. “You've got a whole ocean right there, and they build an open pool and hot tub in front of it?”
“I know, right?” he said. He took our helmets and plopped them onto the back of the bike. “I can’t blame them though. It isn't even that great of a beach. I mean, see those waves?”
I squinted, checking the water, which seemed really still, serene. When waves washed up, they were low and gentle. “Yeah.”
“That's how it is. Like all the time. Unless there's a hurricane or something. No wave action at all.”
I blinked for a moment, taking a second to figure out what he was getting at. “You mean no chance to surf?”
“Folly is better. North Shore.”
“North shore?” I asked. Marc had mentioned it once, but I’d been in a funny state of mind. Now I recalled it wasn’t possible. You couldn’t go in the water at North Shore. There were strong undercurrents. “You can't surf there.”
“Not at the point,” he said. “Not near the lighthouse, but there's a spot nearby...” He waved his hand through the air. “Forget it for now. Let's get going.”
Still, I had to agree with him. Why would the rich want a beach that never saw any wave action? But then, perhaps tall waves were too noisy for Kiawah residents.
We took to the beach. He made a point of holding my hand, claiming we needed to look like visitors enjoying the beach. I didn't fight him on this issue. I didn’t think it was totally necessary, but I’d already lost three boys within twenty four hours on my watch, and I didn’t want to lose him again. Holding on to him made me feel like he couldn’t disappear again.
We were on the lookout for a house on the beach with an L-shaped pool in the back. We got a satellite picture view of the place from Doyle, and then an old real estate photo he dug up from the Internet. He checked for who owned the house currently, but it was actually a real estate company, and the owner of the real estate company was a corporation. Doyle said it was probably so they could write off the home as some sort of business expense. He didn’t have time to hack into the mail system to check whose name was getting put on mail delivered to the house. Brandon sent the info to Corey who confirmed the information, but said that someone in the Academy knew someone in the post office and would ask.
The walk along the beach was better, because driving up, there was a row of trees in front of every house, essentially cutting off our view. Besides, if we walked the beach, we could pretend to sit and enjoy the ocean while we were really checking out the house.
The house itself appeared to be three stories, and a multimillion dollar place, according to the real estate websites. Like I’d told Axel and Marc, if I owned a fancy core everyone wanted, I’d have a million dollars...and a private island was a more likely location for someone that rich. Kiawah Island seemed the type of resort island getaway most people around Charleston would live in. Charleston peninsula was where the rich lived to be seen. Kiawah Island was where the rich went to escape public view.
We were quiet as we walked. It was hard to enjoy the serene surroundings when we were on the hunt, but the breeze caught in our faces and my senses were filled with salt and sand and I had the urge to go walk in the water. I was having a hard time walking on the sand without tripping in the boots that were too big for me, so I stopped to take them off and walk barefoot.
Brandon kept his boots on. We walked on th
e damp sand just beyond the tide rolling. The sand was cool to the touch, and while my feet were cold, it was actually helping to keep me awake. The sand, the warmer sun, and the sound of the ocean made me want to plant myself down on the dry sand and take a nap.
I studied each house as we came up to it, looking for similarities to the photo I’d seen.
“Almost there,” Brandon said. He squeezed my hand, like he’d done every few steps since we started. I wondered if he used holding my hand as his own method to stay awake. “I think it was like ten houses down from the gift shop.”
