I thought about everything Clara had said.
Interesting, all of it, but not helpful.
The info told me nothing about the Gables’ disappearance.
“What type of person would be drawn to Ophiuchus?” I asked. “Who would the Serpent Bearer appeal to?”
“A poisoner, obviously.” Clara stood, face troubled. “Beyond that, I can’t say. And your time is now up. Please excuse me.”
And like that, she spun and dipped through the black curtain.
“Um, bye.” I was stunned by the woman’s hasty retreat. “Thank you!”
“Stranger and stranger.” Shelton popped from his seat. “That’s all for me, folks. I’m out.”
“I don’t wanna be a stupid fish,” Hi whined, trudging to the door behind Shelton.
I followed the boys outside, trying to digest what we’d learned.
A lost astrological sign? Snakes? A poisoner? How did any of it fit?
Maybe the zodiac has nothing to do with the twins at all.
But why had Clara reacted so strangely? Twice. I felt sure there were pieces missing here.
My thoughts were interrupted by the screech of tires on gravel.
I whirled. Ben’s beat-up Explorer was idling ten feet behind me.
He leaned out the window. “You clowns need a lift?”
“No.” I turned furious eyes on Shelton and Hi.
Shelton cracked first. “I told him. He’s still a part of this, too, right?”
Before I could answer, Ben cut me off.
“Don’t flip out, Victoria.” He wore a satisfied smile. “I have news.”
My hands found my hips. “Well?”
“Still wanna hack into Karsten’s flash drive?” Ben asked innocently.
“Of course.”
“Good. Because I can make it happen.”
Clara Gordon watched the kids load bicycles into an SUV.
They drove off. She exhaled, stepping away from the window.
Who’d have thought? Exactly as described. And so soon!
Clara rubbed her arms to quiet a rash of goose bumps. The whole business had her on edge.
A reading. Before I do anything.
Clara strode to a mahogany cabinet. Closing her eyes, she mumbled an incantation under her breath. Then she unlocked the door, removed a cloth-wrapped bundle, and returned to the table where she’d spoken to her vistors.
I shouldn’t have done that. I may have said too much.
Clara unwound the sky-blue velvet, revealing a worn set of tarot cards. Hand-painted. French. Seventeenth century. A gift from her mentor only days before passing, Clara considered them her most precious possession in the world.
Clara shuffled the cards slowly, emptying her mind of distraction.
It’d been weeks since she’d done a personal reading.
Why? She carefully cut the deck, then placed the stacked cards on the red felt surface. Am I hiding something from myself?
Deep breath. Deep breath. Give thanks.
She allowed a question to crystalize in her mind. Clear. Concise. Simple.
Then, grounded and centered, she fanned out the cards. Flipped one at random.
The Tower.
Clara felt a chill travel her spine. A card of the Major Arcana, the Tower meant disaster. Upheaval. The destruction of peace and harmony.
Easy, now. Not always.
The symbol could also represent sudden change. Or revelation. The Tower energy was both a destructive and creative force.
Old attitudes and beliefs, perhaps? Something that must be let go, liked or not?
Troubled, Clara flipped a second card.
Justice. Reversed.
Clara’s alarm grew. A second card of the Major Arcana. A rare occurrence.
This reading spoke of more than a mere day-to-day experience. That much was clear.
The cards foretold a life-changing event, with long-term influences.
Focus. The lesson here is important.
The inversion altered the card’s meaning. Upside down, Justice stood for unfairness. Dishonesty. Lack of accountability. To myself, or others?
Clara thought furiously. Had she’d failed to scrutinize her own actions? Was she trying to dodge a bullet, or blame another for her mistake?
The key is to take responsibility. But how?
She thought of the two cards in conjunction. The Tower. Justice, reversed.
Disaster and Dishonesty. Upheaval and Unfairness.
The answer she’d sought abruptly smacked her in the face.
Those kids. The charge. Of course.
Clara nearly ended the reading right there, but some instinct compelled her to continue. Hands shaking, she flipped the last card in the deck.
And flinched. The chill on her spine morphed to an electric shock.
A third card of the Major Arcana. In ten years of readings, that had never happened.
The image grinned up at her. An armored skeleton, mounted on a white horse.
Death.
Clara moaned softly, though she knew the card wasn’t literal. Death merely indicated that a significant transformation awaited. Change. Transition.
The end of something. But what will replace it?
Clara stared at the three cards. Tower. Justice. Death. She’d not flip a fourth.
Something profound was happening. Something that could go terribly wrong.
Disaster. Deceit. Change.
The message is clear. Do as instructed.
Clara gathered the cards and returned them to the cabinet. Grabbing her keys, she locked the shop and hurried to her car.
Do as instructed.
Three cards. All Major Arcana. Each fraught with danger.
She fired the engine, then spun from the parking lot, heading north.
Clara Gordon raced downtown like a bat out of hell.
“Tory, you’re a Capricorn now, so you’ll have to accept an affinity for goats.”
“Thanks, Hi. I think I’ll be fine.”
In the rearview, I saw Hi shake his head. “You’re just being stubborn, like the Aquarius you used to be. But your days as a water bearer are over. It’s time to accept and move on.”
“I can’t believe you follow that garbage.” Ben turned onto the James Island Expressway. From there we’d link up with 17 North, cross the peninsula, and then traverse the massive Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge to Mount Pleasant.
“This affects you, too, pal.” Hi snapped his fingers. “Like that, you’ve jumped from Capricorn to Sagittarius. Which suits you well, since you’re both cocky and reckless. Plus, you look like a centaur.”
“See this?” Ben glanced at the mirror and pointed to his chin. “This is my ‘couldn’t care less’ face.”
“Philistine.” Hi turned to Shelton, with whom he shared the backseat. “Tell me you’ve debunked this outrage by now.”
“Unfortunately, the witch is right.” Shelton glowered at his iPhone. “About all of it, even Sir Snake Sleeves. But nobody seems to care. The first article I found is from 2010.”
“No one cares because it’s astrology.” Ben rolled his eyes. “The whole concept is dumb, so who cares if it’s accurate?”
“All we should care about,” I cut in, “is whether Ophiuchus has anything to do with the Gable twins’ disappearance. Whether that card is a clue, or not.”
Shelton scratched his cheek. “I’m not saying I know her well, but radical astrology? Doesn’t seem like something Lucy Gable would be into. Or Peter.”
“Agreed.” Still shunning Ben, I aimed my words at Hi and Shelton. “So the question becomes, did someone intentionally leave that card in Lucy’s room? And if so, why?”
No one had an answer. We drove the next few miles in silence.
; Hi broke it as we entered Mount Pleasant. “What’s this guy’s name again?”
“Eddie Chang,” Ben replied. “I heard about him at Wando. He used to go there, and apparently he now makes fake IDs, rips movies and music, that kind of stuff. This dude I know says Chang is a serious hacker, too. Maybe even a member of Anonymous.”
“So we don’t really know anything about him,” I said. To the windshield.
Ben’s expression hardened. “You said we needed to hack the drive. I found a hacker.”
I didn’t respond, but mentally conceded the point. It’s not like I had a better plan.
Ben turned into the parking lot of a run-down apartment building, one of a handful in the otherwise wealthy community. The brick-and-concrete box rose ten depressing stories, bristling with rusty metal balconies.
I knew Ben’s mother rented an apartment somewhere close by. Was it like this building? Suddenly, I couldn’t believe I’d never seen the place where Ben spent half the life.
“This is it.” Ben killed the engine.
“You been here before?” Shelton asked, nervously eyeing the complex.
Ben shook his head. “My friend Ronnie has. He bought a killer fake from Chang.”
He got out and slammed his door. Without other options, we hurried after him, across the cracked and crumbling blacktop to a glass-enclosed entry a dozen yards away.
We slipped through a pair of blurry glass doors into a small foyer. A second Plexiglas-and-steel barrier barred further access. A dingy call box was bolted to the wall beside it. Above the box, a metal-encased security camera glared down at us.
“Jeez,” Hi muttered. “This feels like a gas station in Compton.”
Ben pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket, read, then punched a four-digit code into the call box. It began to ring. At the same time, a red light appeared on the side of the camera.
A click. Static.
“Yeah?”
Ben cleared his throat. “I’m here to see Eddie Chang.”
“Wrong number.” There was a second click as the line disconnected.
Shelton shifted his weight. “Um, okay.”
Ben glanced at the paper, then winced. “Damn. Hold on.”
He jabbed the keys again. This time, no one picked up for several rings.
CLICK.
“Yes?” Irritated.
“I’m here to see . . . Variance. About a model airplane.”
Dead air.
Buzz. The interior door swung open.
Ben waved us into a gloomy lobby. Spotting a decrepit-looking elevator, he mashed the up button.
I had a thousand questions, but held my tongue.
I will not speak to you, Ben Blue.
We rode to the ninth floor, where Ben led us down a drab floral-papered hallway to the last unit on the right.
The reinforced door had steel plates screwed into the wood. A newer, more expensive-looking video camera was mounted above its frame. It swiveled as we approached, tracking our progress down the corridor.
“Who is this guy?” Shelton whispered. “Are we in the Matrix?”
“I’m not taking any blue pills,” Hi warned. “Zion sucked.”
“Just be cool.” Ben was about to knock when static poured from a speaker on the camera.
“Who are you?” a voice demanded.
“My name is Ben. My friend Ronnie said you can . . . provide certain services.”
The lens panned left, then right, scanning the group. “Who are they? Why’d you bring them here?”
Ben shrugged. “Our project involves all of us. We have money.”
The camera froze for a moment, then swung back toward the elevator bank.
A full minute passed.
“Welp.” Hi stretched. “This was fun. Anyone want to hit that Arby’s on the—”
A series of bangs. The jangle of a large chain. Then the armored door swung inward.
I peered into the apartment. Saw no one.
“This is buggin’ me out,” Shelton whispered. “Let’s bail.”
“C’mon.” Ben strode inside, forcing the rest of us to follow.
The unit was small. Beside the front door was a phone-booth-sized bathroom. Ahead was a modest living room crammed with computer equipment.
And I mean crammed. Racks of hardware lined the walls and covered every square inch of the baseboards. The sheer quantity of it put our modest bunker setup to shame. In the far corner, a narrow hallway led to the rear of the apartment, which presumably contained a kitchen and bedroom.
The living room’s only furniture was a sprawling circular workstation, the kind used by fancy corporate receptionists. It held an array of monitors, laptops, modems, and drives, along with other devices and gizmos I couldn’t identify.
Sitting in the center was an Asian man with spiky black hair and blue eyes. I guessed his age at maybe twenty. Chang wore a gray sweatshirt, cargo shorts, and diamond studs in both ears. Mandarin characters tattooed both his forearms.
“You’re Ben?” Chang’s voice was soft.
“I am. You’re Eddie Chang?”
Chang smiled. “For this request, I’m known as Variance. Did you bring the flash drive?”
Ben nodded, then snapped his fingers in my direction.
“You told him?” I hissed, furious. The snap hadn’t helped. “Just like that?”
Ben gave me an exasperated look. “How else was I supposed to explain the job?”
“Relax,” Chang said smoothly. “You’re Tory, I presume?”
He knows my name. Damn it, Ben.
“I am.” Icy. “I take it Ben has already explained what we want?”
“Yes. And don’t worry, I’m a pro. Cracking files is what I do, and I know how to keep my mouth shut.” Chang leaned forward. “A trait I expect your party to emulate. Clear?”
“Clear,” I said.
“No problem at all.” Hi stared at our host with something close to awe. “And if you need, like, an assistant on weekends, or something, I’m your man. I know how to brew coffee.”
“True that.” Shelton was eyeballing Chang’s equipment, his prior reservations forgotten. “This is the coolest place I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Chang winked. “Thanks, guys, but I work alone. It’s a hacker thing. Now let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Ben nodded my direction. “She has the drive.”
“We’ll get to that. You said you have the money?”
“Five hundred,” Ben replied. “As agreed.”
“Excellent. Now would be a perfect time to hand it over.”
Ben looked to Shelton, who scrambled for his wallet. He handed Chang a thick wad of twenties we’d withdrawn before leaving Folly Beach.
“Cash is going fast these days,” Shelton muttered. “Better be worth it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Then Chang gave me an expectant look.
I hesitated. The contents of Karsten’s flash drive could potentially devastate our lives.
“We have to show it to someone,” Ben said quietly.
Ben was right. Sighing, I dug the drive from my pocket and extended it to the hacker.
Pulled it back just as his fingers drew near.
“One condition.”
Chang smiled wryly. “Of course.”
“You don’t read the decrypted files. Ever. If you can access them, that is.”
“Fine.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not all that interested.”
I dropped the drive into his open palm.
“Much obliged.” Chang popped the data stick into a USB drive and began tapping keys.
“The files are encrypted,” Shelton said. “Commercial grade.”
“I imagine so,” Chang quipped, “or you wouldn’t need me. First step is to determi
ne how tightly the windows are nailed shut.”
Minutes passed as Chang typed, studied the screen, typed, then studied more. Then he swiveled his chair, his fingers hammering a second keyboard. A stream of characters filled the monitor to his right.
Finally, Chang rubbed his chin. “Well, this isn’t the kiddie stuff I expected.”
“Can you explain what you’re doing?” I asked.
Chang spun back to face us. “What do you know about file encryption?”
“Almost nothing,” I admitted. “That’s Shelton’s department.”
I felt Shelton swell beside me, but he didn’t speak. A trainee does not interrupt a master explaining his craft.
“Encryption is the process of encoding information so that only a person with the proper key can read it.” Chang tapped the monitor filled with letters and numbers. “Computer encryption is based on traditional cryptology, which has been around forever. Microchips just give it more juice.”
“So it’s just fancy codes,” I said. “And the ciphers needed to unlock them.”
We had some experience on those counts.
“Exactly. Online, ciphers are called algorithms. They allow a user to craft a message and give a certain range of possible combinations. A key, on the other hand, helps the user figure out the one correct answer on any given occasion.”
I followed so far. “So what’s on this flash drive?”
Chang pointed to a monitor on the opposite side of the workstation. “These files are protected by a simple symmetric-key encryption. To open them, we have to match the key used by the originating system.”
“So you need to crack the code.”
“Of course. But there’s a problem.”
Chang leaned back in his chair. “The strength of any key is determined by the length of its code, which is measured in bits. I can crack any 56-bit DES system with brute force, and that’s working through seventy quadrillion possible combinations.”
Hi whistled. “I take it you don’t type them in, one at a time.”
“Not on your life. But that’s not what we’re facing here. These files are protected by an AES key system. A real nasty one, too, with 128-bit keys. That’s more combinations. A lot more.”