Free Wildfire by Ken Goddard

too much. Names, places, things like that."
    "That's right," the youth said quickly. "I do know too much. And besides," he added in a deeply humbled voice, "I have my own jobs to do."
    "Exactly." Harris nodded. "So we'll send a couple of new people from our legal team to check things out from a safe distance, perhaps posing as representatives of Mr. Crowley's family, while you continue to monitor, among other things, the trial of Mr. Maas and Mr. Chareaux."
    "Do you think that they'll be—uh—okay, if Riser's still out there?" the youth asked hesitantly.
    "Oh, I think they'll be just fine," Harris said confidently. "After all, the ones I'm thinking of are young and energetic and—thanks to Harvard Law School and the United States Marine Corps—extremely well trained. And, most importantly, Riser has never seen either of them."
    "I was just thinking about his reputation."
    "Of course. But don't forget, we still have the primary advantage. We know a great deal about him, and he knows little or nothing about us."
    "Assuming that Crowley hasn't told him anything."
    "Which was exactly why you elected to use Crowley in the first place," Harris reminded pointedly. "In spite of his family contacts, he really doesn't know much of anything about us. Or at least nothing useful, isn't that right?"
    "Oh, yeah, sure." Eric nodded, his face relaxing into its more characteristic, predatory expression. "How long do you think we should wait before we send them in?"
    "Let's give Crowley another half hour. If we don't hear from him by"—Harris glanced at his watch again —"let's say six o'clock, then we'll turn our associates loose to see what they can find."
    "That sounds good."
    "Yes, I agree." Harris nodded. "And while we're waiting, I think we would be wise to consider how we might make better use of those wildlife agents to keep our Mr. Riser fully occupied."
     
     
    At the end, having reached his sanctuary unscathed, William Devonshire Crowley discovered that the door was the worst part of all.
    He stood there in the hallway in front of his tenth-floor hotel room for a good thirty seconds before he was finally able to summon up the nerve to put the key in the lock. But even then it took the distant sound of an elevator door coming open to jar him into action.
    Whimpering with fear, he wrenched the key to the right, shoved the door open, lunged forward into the room, slammed the door shut, threw the dead bolt, turned on the light, and then whirled around wide-eyed, with his back against the door, to face the interior of his room.
    No dark figure.
    No movement.
    Nothing.
    Almost crying with relief, Crowley quickly looked into the bathroom, the closet, and under the beds—which turned out to have solid box supports for the springs. Working frantically now, because he had to be sure, he pulled up both sets of mattresses and springs and looked underneath. Then he checked to verify that the two wooden cabinets did, in fact, contain a small refrigerator and a TV set instead of a patiently waiting killer.
    Only then, when he was absolutely sure that he was alone, did William Devonshire Crowley unzip the black computer case and put the laptop computer on the desk.
    His hands were shaking so badly that it was all he could do to plug in the power adapter and make the connections between the built-in modem and the hotel room telephone.
    His employers had programmed the miniature computer to load automatically all the necessary communications software and hand-shaking commands during the booting-up process, so all Crowley had to do was turn on the power switch and wait.
    Finally, after a considerable amount of electronic humming, sixteen words appeared on the screen.
     
    HELLO WILLIAM. ENTER YOUR MESSAGE NOW (HIT SHIFT AND F10 KEYS TO SEND, ESC TO QUIT):
     
    Closing his eyes in heartfelt relief, Crowley began to type furiously with his still shaky hands.
     
    I HAVE MADE CONTACT WITH RISER AS DIRECTED. ADVISED HIM WE HAD TO RENEGOTIATE