Part 24 (1/2)
AIR SHAFT AIRHEAD GETS CAUGHT!.
He shuddered.
”No, thanks.”
”I'll help you,” Milkdud said.
”What about the Milkdud Code?”
”It says I won't plant any devices for you, but it doesn't say I can't show you how to hack a building. That would make me an apostle of the building hack. I'd be... St. Milkdud, a missionary, spreading the word to the unenlightened, making converts-”
”Okay,” Jack said, smiling and holding up his hands. ”I get it.”
He thought about the offer. If Milkdud could get him to a spot where he could see and hear what went on in Thomas Clayton's lawyer's office...
”Let me get this straight,” Jack said. ”You're offering to be my guide into the bowels of the Hand Building-”
”Pathfinder would be more accurate. Trailblazer even more so.”
”Which means?”
”I'll check my notes and rehack the Hand this weekend. You tell me where you want to be, and I'll see if I can find a way for you to get there. If I do find one, I'll get you into the building on the morning of the meeting and point you in the right direction.”
”You mean you won't be coming along?”
Milkdud shook his head. ”Uh-uh. The code, you know.”
”But what if I get lost or”-the Jack-as-kitten-up-a-tree vision flashed before him again-”stuck?”
”I'll diagram your route and mark the pa.s.sage. If you can follow directions and road signs, you should have no problem. And if it'll make you feel better, bring along a cell phone. I'll be outside. You get in trouble, call me.”
Jack drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. His instincts told him to find some other way. He wasn't claustrophobic-he'd spent long hours in cramped places before-but he preferred multiple escape routes whenever he put himself into a situation. But with Milkdud available to back him up... maybe it could work.
”All right,” Jack said. ”Let's plan it out.”
”First thing I'll need to know is the location of the meeting. The exact exact location.” location.”
”I can get that.” I think I think.
”Good. Next thing is, you've got to get yourself some hacking clothes.”
”Such as?”
”Well, in the summer, when the AC is on, I use long Johns. But in the winter, it can get hot in those ducts. Even in the returns. So I'd recommend a lightweight coverall-sans b.u.t.tons, or a rugby s.h.i.+rt and panty hose.”
”Panty hose? Jeez, Dud!”
”You're gonna be belly-crawling every which way you can, Jack. You gotta be able to slide slide, man.”
”Yeah... but pantyhose?”
Another Post Post headline flashed before his eyes: headline flashed before his eyes:
PANTY-HOSED PEEPER PINCHED IN PIPES!.
Jack said, ”I'll go with the coveralls, I think. What else will I need?”
”A three-piece suit.”
”Aw, no!”
”Where did we meet?” Alicia said, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she unwrapped half a turkey sub from the Blimpie's down the block. ”In Gordon Haffner's office. He's Thomas's lawyer.”
She'd waited all morning to hear from Jack. He'd been so excited last night after finding that magic marker squiggle in the Hand Building lobby. He'd started babbling about building hackers-whatever they were-and somebody named Milkdud. He'd taken her home, checked out her apartment to make sure it was empty and secure, then left her, saying he'd call in the morning.
Well, he hadn't called. And she'd had some very bad moments walking to the hospital this morning. She'd kept to the center of the sidewalk, eyeing every van near the curb, every pa.s.serby, tensing at every set of hurried footsteps behind her. She'd never been so relieved to see the guard at the front door.
Her relief had turned to dismay when she saw Hector's blood culture report: Candida albicans Candida albicans, the opportunistic fungus that rode into AIDS patients on the backs of other infections. She'd added IV amphotericin B to the mix of meds flowing into Hector, and crossed her fingers.
His foster mother probably hadn't been giving him his prophylactic Diflucan either. At least Alicia hoped that was the reason for the infection. If not, it meant he'd picked up a resistant strain, and that could be bad. Very bad.
She took a bite of her sandwich. She hadn't had dinner last night, hadn't been able to stomach breakfast this morning; it had taken until noon for the thought of food to occur to her. And now, just as she was starting lunch at her desk, Jack called.
”Gordon Haffner,” Jack said. ”Where's his office on the floor?”
She swallowed. ”I'm not sure.”
”It's important, Alicia.”
”All right, then. Let me think.”
She replayed that afternoon in her mind, walking through the gla.s.s doors on the twenty-first floor with Leo Weinstein, sitting in the reception area, then being led down a hall to Haffner's office. She remembered looking out the window and seeing the blue canopy of the Chemists' Club across the street below.
”He overlooks Forty-fifth Street.”
”That's a start. But I need to know exactly. Is it a corner office?”
”No. But it's right next to a corner office-the east corner.”
”You're sure?”
”Absolutely. I remember thinking that Thomas might not have the top man in the firm, but he seems to have someone close to the top.”