He pushed back the lock of hair that flopped over his forehead, and got to his feet. Pacing around, he looked through the window and out onto the green vista, lit by the noontime sun and wide expanse of clear blue sky overhead. The properties that stretched out as far as he could see, part of the holdings that he had inherited with his parents’ death. Properties that a stranger was looking into….
“Jemima,” he called out, “use Line 3 to call Blake Rickert.”
“Anything you want, Simon,” the voice breathily responded. Line 3 identified the caller as Simon’s tech corporation, X-Tech Solutions. Lines 1 and 2 were his most untraceable ones.
“Dialing.”
A few seconds later, the familiar voice of the realtor came over the speakers.
“Hi, Simon.”
“Hey, Blake. Any word on who’s been looking into all the properties?”
There was a sigh of frustration before the realtor responded. “I called him and he says he’ll come into my office. He hung up before I could get him to commit to a day and time.”
Well, wasn’t that even more suspicious.
Simon pushed his glasses up on his nose, and grabbed a marker on the ledge of a large dry-erase board that hung from a wheeled rack. It was one that automatically saved his scribbling, and transferred them digitally to his computer. “Give me the number that you have for him.”
Blake didn’t ask, he recited the digits and Simon wrote them down. Even if it were a burner phone, Simon had ways to track down where the phone was sold, and possibly even more information that could lead him to its user.
“Let me know if he does come in, Blake.”
“Will do,” the Realtor promised. “Or if I hear from him.”
“Cool, thanks. Jemima, end call.”
His break over, he was back over his keyboard, furiously tapping in several commands. And then some more. A final few, and then he had to concede defeat.
Not a burner phone, but untraceable, even with all the programs that he threw at it, some that were still in prototype. It was like his own Lines 1 and 2.
There was one more method to try.
“Jemima,” he called out. “Use Line 1 to call the number I’ve entered….”
* * *
Cadmus barely ate his lunch. It was a mistake. He obviously wasn’t thinking clearly, asking Billy Bob to pick it a sandwich for him on the way to Cadmus’ house. He had wondered how it would be possible to fuck up a club sandwich order.
Now he could wonder no more.
The soggy bread and sad piece of iceberg lettuce framed the meat of unknown origin. The strips of bacon were tougher than his leather belt. Cadmus strongly suspected that Billy Bob had picked up the sandwich in a gas station.
Next to a garbage dump.
It was a fitting capper to a long, onerous night, starting with the doorbell ringing and Micah leaping up with his disgustingly endless energy to open the door.
Micah had just announced that he was about to finally leave for his hotel in town.
And then the door opened to his reason to stay. Jordy, his recruit, until she became the new president of Micah’s fan club.
As he feared, the two millennials had a lot in common with each other—more to bond over, in fact, than Cadmus’ still tenuous hold on her.
And while the sacrifice that Jordy brought wasn’t quite as athletically built as what His Terrible Majesty preferred, it wasn’t lost on him how the girl’s freckled cheeks glowed at Micah’s praise. Wasn’t it so impressive how Jordy was able to bring in a healthy young male offering all by herself? How clever it was of her to get him to drive himself here! And how wonderful it was that she identified the Faire as a way to keep bringing in more sacrifices that wouldn’t be missed.
Micah’s butt kissing skills were unparalleled.
On and on, as Micah of coursehadto stay and show Jordy how to conduct the ritual with the young prize she had brought. He had easily thrown the duct-taped male over his shoulder, and descended into the root cellar that he had pronounced as “cute.”
