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Installment #1: In the Dark, All Hackers
Are Grey...
The McClaren knew, as all worthwhile hackers and assassins knew, that
only the right time would work. Any other time and one would be facing
the probability of insurmountable odds. Without that gut feeling of
right, failure was a certainty.
There were some that thrived on the rush of the odds being against
them. They didn't last long in the McClaren's profession. The
adrenaline junkies were short on patience. To be successful in the
shadow world, one needed patience and an ability to use the shadows to
advantage.
The McClaren flexed leather gloved fingers, ensuring they stayed supple
in the near freezing temperature. The shadows of the early winter
evening blended with the deep grape of the McClaren's long overcoat. It
was unusual for someone of the McClaren's ilk to wear any color, even a
purple-black. Non-colors, grey and black, were the usual
choices.
A metal door clanged several floors above the McClaren and booted feet
rang on the catwalk, then on the metal stairs. A light sleet began to
fall and there was a sharp curse. The McClaren counted the steps as the
sharp footfalls descended two flights then paused. Another door banged
open, just one flight above the McClaren. A second pair of boots, with
a lighter tread, joined the first.
"Careful," a male voice warned, "The stairs are slippery."
The two began a cautious decent to the ground. The McClaren breathed
shallowly as the voices grew more distinct.
"I've used these stairs many times in bad weather. I can take care of
myself," a woman said.
The McClaren's back was pressed tightly against the side of the
building. The deepening shadows easily masked the purple-black
overcoat. Two sets of jean clad legs came into view above the McClaren
and then descended to the alley.
"Do you have a ride home?" asked the young man, whom the McClaren could
see had blonde curly hair.
"Are you offering me one?" the woman replied archly, her dark head
tilted to one side so she could look up at the young man in a
provocative manner.
"Sure," he shrugged. "I'll offer you dinner too."
The young woman laughed and linked her arm with his, steering him
toward the bright lights of the main thoroughfare. They rounded the
corner and their footsteps faded away. The McClaren began to silently
count the seconds.
One minute went by, then two. The McClaren moved. The dark overcoat
flowed like silk with the lithe movement of the body beneath. Silently,
the McClaren climbed the stairs. The first flight went by as if it were
but one step. In moments, the McClaren was at the door the man had
emerged from.
Resisting the urge to glance back down the stairs, the McClaren put one
gloved hand on the doorknob. The other punched a series of numbers on
the keypad next to the metal door. The door eased open without a sound
and the McClaren slipped inside.
The room was nearly dark. The only light came from a computer monitor.
The McClaren stepped toward the computer and stripped off one glove.
The hand beneath was long fingered and covered with latex. Pushing
aside the office chair in front of the computer the McClaren tapped out
a command on the keyboard with the latex gloved hand. The picture on
the monitor changed. Characters spilled across the screen like a bowl
of alphabet soup spilled across a tablecloth. The characters flowed and
scrolled rapidly until the last one scrolled off the top of the screen,
leaving only a blinking cursor at the top of a neon blue background.
The McClaren slipped the leather glove back on and reached into the
pocket of the overcoat, pulling out a Glock 9mm. The gun gleamed dully
in the shadowy room. The McClaren set the gun carefully next to the
keyboard and turned toward the door.
The descent to the alley was swifter than the ascent. Night had fallen
in the few minutes it had taken the McClaren to accomplish the task. A
sputtering overhead light far down the alley cast a dim golden glow
that didn't quite reach to where the McClaren stood in the shadows
beneath the metal stairs.
A group of young people, laughing and joking, walked by on the street
where the alley ended. The McClaren's eyes followed their progress down
the sidewalk and out of sight. Stepping out of the shadows onto the wet
concrete, the McClaren began to walk in the same direction. The icy
sleet was still falling, but sluggishly now. The McClaren lithely
jumped a half-frozen puddle and crossed the street.
Several blocks away were crowds of young people spilling into and out
of trendy dining establishments and nightclubs. Neon lights flashed and
reflected wildly on the wet, frozen pavement. Even in inclement weather
the young flocked to the area around the pier. It was a haven for the
young, filled with shops, eateries and clubs that catered to their
every desire, legal and illegal.
The McClaren strode along at the back of a group of boisterous
twenty-somethings, the deep purple overcoat blending in with their
jewel-toned clothing. When they turned right into a noisy poolhall, the
McClaren turned left, crossed a street and ducked into a multi-storied
parking structure. At the back of the structure, on the ground level,
was a small black classic Porsche. At the push of a button the car
started, even before the McClaren reached it. The door opened with a
quiet whoosh and the McClaren slid inside. In moments, the car slipped
out of the structure and disappeared into the darkness.
Miles from the pier area, in a wealthy residential neighborhood, the
Porsche pulled into a gated driveway. One gloved hand emerged from the
driver's window with a gold embossed invitation held out to the guard.
The gates opened. The Porsche glided down a tree-lined drive that was
clotted with expensive cars, finally parking behind a blue Bentley. The
McClaren emerged from the car and strode up to the golden stone villa
but instead of going to the front door, slipped around to a dark wooden
side door. Inside, in a dimly lit hallway, the McClaren slipped out of
the purple overcoat and hung it on a peg beside the door.
"It's about time!" a sibilant whisper came from the shadows.
The McClaren turned, long silky chestnut hair flying out, then settling
around her slender, creamy bare shoulders. "Time for what?" she asked,
a smile beginning to turn up one corner of her lush coral mouth.
A man in a dark, expensive suit stepped into the light. "About time you
got here and saved me from the clutches of that madman Ogilvie!"
A bright bubble of laughter emerged from Nyx McClaren. She brushed long
fingered hands over her sleek purple silk dress. The short flirty hem
twinkled with expensive beading that matched the beading on her
spike-heeled sandals.
Seth Cameron eyed her lithe, athletic form with appreciative eyes. Her
face was heart shaped, with a peaches and cream complexion. Chestnut
brown brows arched perfectly over sea crystal eyes that could one
moment shine brilliantly blue and the next flash deep green. Her mouth
was generous with full lips that parted over white, even teeth. A small
beauty mark sat provocatively at the corner of her mouth, dangerously
near the dimple that often danced in her cheek. That dimple gave him
heart palpitations, even during the course of business.
Seth took her arm and tucked it into his. They walked out of the side
hallway into a huge room full of people. "Ogilvie wants to talk to you.
He's been hanging on me for the past half hour asking where you were,"
Seth murmured in her diamond-studded ear.
Nyx smiled and waved her free hand at acquaintances as they made their
way across the room. "I had to wait for awhile before I could access
the computer," she replied smoothly in a low tone that only he could
hear.
Seth's sharp grey eyes flicked over her, looking for visual clues that
she'd run into difficulties. She looked amazingly perfect and calm to
him.
Nyx's smile widened. "Think I can't do my job, Cameron?"
"I think you love being the McClaren," he gritted out softly. "No
matter what that entails."
"Miss McClaren!" A loud voice boomed across the room followed by the
parting of guests as a large, rotund man with wild, dark hair and a
beard bore down on them. "I have been wanting to see you! Oh my, you
are magnificent tonight!"
"How are you Mr. Ogilvie?" Nyx held out one perfectly manicured hand to
the big man.
Ogilvie bent over her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles.
"Miss McClaren I have much to discuss with you!" he growled loudly.
"You must come with me and Mr. Cameron can stay here. I am tired of his
conversation!" Ogilvie grasped her arm with his meaty hand and began
hauling her across the room while Seth stood transfixed behind her.
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