Free Vital Force by Trevor Scott Page A

of him was the special agent in charge of the Central Oregon Agency office, Jane Harris. They had never met, but had talked on the phone a few times in the past few hours on the drive up.
    Turning off the dome light, Fisher got out, quietly closed the driver’s door, and walked up to the Blazer, getting in the passenger side.
    He reached across and shook the agent’s hand. “Drew Fisher.”
    â€œJane Harris.”
    She was a small woman, looking more like a marathon runner than someone who might need to mix it up with criminals. Her hair was cut so short in the back, he could see her scalp. Yet, despite her small frame, Fisher noticed her chest was well represented.
    â€œHow long ya been here?” Fisher asked.
    She checked her watch. “About two hours. Evans works across the river with a law firm.”
    â€œDamn, a lawyer?”
    â€œActually, he’s a CPA. The firm deals mostly with businesses in the area. Evans handles their tax division.”
    â€œYou think he has a clue about his old college buddy?”
    She shook her head. “From what you’ve told me, Cliff Johansen doesn’t sound like he confides in anyone.”
    â€œTrue. But guys tell their college friends more than they tell their priest.”
    She swiveled her head toward the house down the road with the Trooper in the driveway. “Did you run the plates on the Trooper?”
    â€œRental. Out to a Jill Jones.”
    â€œDidn’t look like a Jill to me,” she said. “Chinese. Maybe Korean.”
    â€œFormer, I’d guess. The place she was staying in Union City was rented to a company in San Jose. I’ve got someone checking into that.”
    She looked concerned. “This information you suspect he took. How important is it?”
    â€œThat’s the problem,” Fisher said, “I’m not sure what he took. The company has access to every aspect of the missile defense system. Cliff’s a computer genius. He could get in and out without anyone’s knowledge. We have to suspect worst-case.”
    And that’s what had him so anxious. If Cliff Johansen had taken anything at all, he had done it right under his nose. That could get Fisher fired, if not hung out to dry.
    â—
    Inside the house of Zack Evans, Li and Cliff Johansen had just finished putting their bags in a spare bedroom on the second floor, and were about to make their way downstairs. Remembering her instructions, and how she needed to hurry the process, she hoped this computer nerd would not try to screw with her-literally and figuratively.
    â€œHe wasn’t surprised to see you,” Li said. “Are you sure you didn’t tell him you were coming?”
    â€œPositive.” Cliff moved closer to her, planting his right hand on her butt. “He seemed very impressed by you.”
    She ran her thigh against his crotch seductively. “Let’s remain focused. You have to get the data tonight.”
    The two of them headed downstairs and found Zack Evans in the living room watching CNN and drinking a martini. He was a slight man with round spectacles on top of narrow-set eyes. His hair was spiked up with gel and he smiled through one side of his mouth.
    â€œThe bar is open,” Evans said, raising his glass. “I can make you one of these...shaken, not stirred. Or I’ve got some of that good local microbrew that I sent you a few weeks ago.”
    Cliff started off and then stopped. “I’m havin’ a beer. Li, what would you like?”
    â€œSoda.”
    â€œYou got it.” He took off.
    While he was gone, Li went to the window and glanced out from the edge of the curtain. She had to make this work. Damn. She still needed to find that Abby Road album for the Laughing Dumbass. He could forgive her for not getting the software, she thought, but if she didn’t bring back the Beatles. . . she’d pay for that with her flesh.
    â€œHere you go,” Cliff